The Mentalist: The Taming of the Psychic
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Imagine an AU world where Red John never killed Jane's family. What would Jane be like? Can Lisbon learn to tame the savage psychic? Inspired by "Fugue in Red," but set around some events of Season 2. Rated T/M for language and Jisbon sexytimes. Humor/Romance/Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yes, I know. "Red Haze" isn't complete, and here I am starting yet another fic. This idea took hold of me and wouldn't let me go, and after discussing it a little with my friends on Twitter, I got really excited about writing it. It is definitely AU, given that Red John never existed here, and Jane's family is dead, but not by Red John's hand. Instead, you will find a Jane very similar to fugue Jane—still playing psychic, a womanizer, an opportunist. I hope you can wrap your mind around this storyline and follow me once again into the crazy place that is my imagination.

Here goes nothing…

**The Taming of the Psychic**

**Chapter 1**

"Look, Lisbon," Special Agent Virgil Minelli told her. "He's helped San Francisco PD solve three cold cases just this week, and a murder over at the pier there that had bedeviled our own folks at the San Fran branch. I want you and your team to go to his show tonight. Introduce yourselves. We've hit a dead end in finding little Megan. Every time I meet with her parents"—he shook his head mournfully—"I don't know about you, but I'm ready to try anything."

Lisbon sighed. "But, sir, he claims he's a psychic, for God's sake. I can't believe we've sunk so low that we'd hire some…_sideshow _act to work in Serious Crimes. No offense, sir, but I never would have believed you'd put stock in such…chicanery."

Her boss shook his head.

"Don't misunderstand me, Agent; of course I know he's not a real psychic. It's an act, a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But he's got good instincts and he's some sort of observational genius, if you believe what the San Fran boys say. It won't hurt to go the show and see what you think of him." His voice turned serious and urgent. "Time is running out for that little girl, Teresa. You know as well as I do that after three days with no breaks in the case or ransom demands, chances are slim we'll even find her alive."

She sighed. "Fine. But you'll take to heart whatever I report?"

"Sure, if I agree with it."

She threw up her hands in resignation, but couldn't resist getting in one last protest. "I can already tell you it will be a complete waste of time."

"Well, at the very least, you'll get a free night of entertainment courtesy of the CBI. Hell," he said reaching for his wallet. "You guys have dinner on me—and hey, get him to go with you however you can. Entice him with a free meal."

Of course Lisbon relented; there really had been no question from either of them. This was her job, and Minelli had never had cause to doubt her loyalty. He opened his top desk drawer and withdrew four tickets, handing them to Lisbon along with his credit card.

She glanced down at the long white slips of thin cardstock. _Reaching Out with Patrick Jane: Psychic Medium and Spiritual Advisor. One night only. Row 1, Seat 5._

She shuffled through the other three tickets and looked up at her boss in dismay. "Front row seats?"

"Only the best for Serious Crimes," he said with an amused smirk. "Have fun. And remember, you're doing this for Megan."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon, Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt, CBI Agents all, arrived at the Thunder Valley Casino approximately one minute before the house lights in the small amphitheatre went down. The place was packed with mostly women who'd paid the hundred dollar ticket price for the privilege of being duped.

"My cousin Yolanda saw him in Tahoe last spring. She says he's amazing," extolled Van Pelt in an excited whisper. Obviously, the junior agent didn't see things quite the same way Lisbon did.

"Yeah, amazing at reeling in suckers," scoffed Rigsby.

"Oh, hush," replied Van Pelt. "Give him a chance. He hasn't even come out on the stage—"

Suddenly, with the darkening of the room, the huge screen on the stage showed a vast sea of stars, which began to move and elongate, making the audience feel as if they were traveling through space. A deep, soothing voice filled the room, the background music a low, otherworldly hum.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to embark on a journey beyond space, beyond time, to a place where many have gone before, with no hope of ever reaching out to the ones they left behind. Until now. Until this man…"

"Oh, brother," mumbled Lisbon, and beside her, Cho assumed his skeptic's pose—arms across his chest, posture that would make his mother proud, expression completely blank.

"Please join the Thunder Valley Casino in welcoming back…Patrick Jane!"

The room went dark again, momentarily disorienting the audience until the stage lights flashed a calming blue, and a white light shone on center stage. The theatre became deafening with the cries of excited women as the psychic appeared as if by magic in the center of the bright spotlight. His smile rivaled the stage lights in intensity as the star of the show inclined his head to the audience amid thundering applause.

When Teresa Lisbon beheld Patrick Jane for the first time, she could totally understand the attraction. Quite simply, the man was beautiful. His golden blonde hair was brushed back from his face, but the style hadn't totally tamed its natural wave. He looked like an angel in an expensive suit, which was likely why he was so convincing as a medium. He wore a microphone headset like a rock star, and his hands were long and delicate as they pressed together in a semblance of an Indian Namaste.

"Thank you. Thank you all. Welcome." The audience quieted down, eager to hang on the man's every word. "I'm so glad you have joined me tonight. I hope our time together here will prove enlightening for all of us. First, let me ask for complete silence while I try to channel your thoughts and connect them to those who have crossed over…"

Lisbon looked around in shock at the crowd's total compliance. There wasn't a sound as the showman closed his eyes in what looked like deep concentration. Most of the audience was even closing their own eyes right along with him. She glanced at Van Pelt, who seemed enraptured by the handsome psychic, and Rigsby, who had a mild grin on his face as he in turn watched Van Pelt's star-struck reaction. Cho looked positively bored. Lisbon's eyes were drawn helplessly back to the stage. It was hard even for her to deny the man's charisma.

When Jane opened his eyes again, he was looking right at her, and Lisbon felt her heart skip a beat at being caught staring. He grinned at her knowingly, winked one sea green eye, and addressed the rest of his admirers.

"Now…I'm getting something…I'm feeling the letter…_K_." Hands shot up all over the auditorium, but Jane's attention was drawn back to Lisbon's area, and as the spotlight dimmed and the lights went up on the onlookers, Jane walked to the stairs leading down from the stage. He walked in front of the first row, then stopped, right before Kimball Cho.

"You, sir. Does the letter _K _mean anything to you?"

Cho shrugged. "It's the eleventh letter in the alphabet."

There were a few chuckles around them. _Aww_, some were murmuring, _a nonbeliever. _A stage hand rushed forward to thrust a mic toward Cho's face. He didn't even flinch. Lisbon knew he must be annoyed, but he was on the job, so he would try his best not to be too rude.

Jane smiled. "I understand your skepticism, but I challenge you to work with me a little, and I promise you'll come away from this a changed man."

Cho uncrossed his arms, and nodded. He was game, but he purposefully avoided looking at Rigsby, whose grin rivaled Jane's himself.

"Good," said Jane. "Open your arms to the possibilities. Now, what's your name?"

"Kimball," he replied politely. The crowd gasped.

"Kimball. I had a feeling there was a _K_ involved here. Kimball, I see you are rather a man of mystery to your friends. You hold things back because you're a very private person, am I right?"

"Yeah," said Cho meaningfully.

"I'm thinking it's because you were pushed hard as a child to succeed."

"I'm Korean," he said by way of explanation.

More light laughter. Jane was amused too, but also obviously not used to having a mark compete with him for attention. He grinned along with the crowd, but tried to regain control of the situation.

"Being pushed led you to rebel, didn't it? You hung out with the wrong crowd, and although you eventually got away from it, it led recently to the death of someone you cared deeply for."

There was a brief flash of discomfort in Cho's gaze, which only those who had worked closely with him would recognize. Well, they and a fake psychic.

"His name was…I'm getting a…_C_…no, a…_D_…"

Cho was no longer playing, and wouldn't respond.

"David!" Rigsby called out. Cho shot his friend a murderous look, and then his arms folded once more, this time in tightly wound anger.

"Yes," said Jane, as if that confirmed everything he'd been thinking. "Well, David's here with us now, Kimball, and he wants you to know something."

Cho did not respond, but his eyes had narrowed, and beside him, Lisbon could feel the animosity coming off of him in waves.

"He wants you to know he forgives you. He says you should forgive yourself."

Seeing that he wasn't quite getting the emotional catharsis he was hoping for, Jane ramped it up a bit. "David says…it's nice you're taking care of his mother—no, his _grandmother_- for him."

And there it was. The flicker of emotion Jane had been looking for. He pounced on that like a spider while the audience sighed a collective _awww. _

"Ladies, and gentlemen, what a truly thoughtful and caring friend Kimball is!" More applause.

"That's sweet, Cho," said Van Pelt sincerely, reaching over Lisbon to touch his arm.

Unbeknownst to Van Pelt, Lisbon sensed Cho was about to do some major pouncing himself. She put a restraining arm in front of him and murmured a cautious, "Cho."

She looked up and caught Patrick Jane's eye, giving him a minor shake of the head. He nodded slightly, thanked Cho, with a smile, and moved on to his next victim. It was truly amazing, Lisbon thought, how they'd just communicated without saying a word—almost…_psychically._ She pushed the nonsensical thought to the back of her mind. Meanwhile, Cho relaxed beside her—or as close to relaxed as Cho ever became.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After the show, (which, Lisbon had to admit, was quite impressive) she and her team pushed their way through the crush of awe-inspired fans, flashing their badges to security to gain access to the backstage area and Patrick Jane's dressing room. Apparently, they weren't the only ones to receive a free pass. Two ladies (and Lisbon felt that term was a bit of a stretch) in low cut blouses carrying roses stood outside the red door marked _private._

Lisbon brushed past them to knock sharply on the door.

"Hey, lady, wait your turn!" grumbled one woman in annoyance.

"Official police business," said Lisbon, showing her badge again. "Scram!"

The women wandered off—though not too far—and Rigsby stifled a grin.

"Mr. Jane, could you open up, please?"

When there was no answer, she knocked again, harder. "Mr. Jane!"

"I thought we were supposed to be trying to get him to join the team, not bully the man," Van Pelt whispered to Rigsby in reaction to Lisbon's brusque treatment of the psychic's door.

Risbsy shrugged, as Lisbon brought up her hand to pound again, just like she had on a murder suspect's door last week. The door was spared a further beating when it opened and one of Jane's backstage groupies stood on the other side. Cho and Rigsby's eyes were immediately drawn from her bright pink lips to her ample bosom, and Lisbon couldn't really blame them. It was practically begging for attention, after all. Lisbon pursed her mouth in distaste.

"We need to speak to Mr. Jane," Lisbon said tightly.

"He's busy," she said. Lisbon looked past her shoulder to see Jane himself, lounging on a red leather couch, his jacket off, tie askew, pink lipstick staining his cheek. He was grinning in intense amusement.

"Mr. Jane," she called into the room. "May we have a moment of your time, please?"

"Ginger—" he began, rising gracefully to his feet.

"Janet," corrected the woman.

"Oops. My bad. _Janet_, would you mind giving us a minute please?"

"But Patty, you said you'd give me a private reading," Janet pouted.

"And I will. But first, I need to talk to these kind officers of the law. Give us ten minutes, okay?"

He walked over to the door and handed Janet her purse, then ushered her out of the dressing room with an affectionate pat on the ass. Lisbon and her team stepped aside so she could exit, then filed into the room. Jane shut the door and turned back to his guests.

"How'd you know we were law enforcement?" asked Rigsby.

"Oh please," replied Jane. "I mean, look at you. You look like you stepped off the set of _The Mod Squad." _ He eyed the four of them again for a moment, then amended: "Or maybe _Scooby Doo_—I haven't quite decided."

"Hey!" protested Rigsby.

"We're CBI," said Lisbon, flashing her badge.

He smiled that megawatt smile of his. "Of course you are. I don't recall having done anything worthy of criminal investigation…well, not lately anyway. What's this about?"

"I thought you were a psychic," Cho said, still bitter from his earlier treatment.

"Cho," chided Van Pelt.

"No, it's okay, lovely lady." Van Pelt blushed at the compliment. He looked to Cho. "I'm sorry if I offended you, Kimball. But cut me some slack, will ya? I mean, you were attending my show, after all…"

Cho crossed his arms again, fully aware that it made him seem even more closed off and angry. Jane raised his eyebrows and turned back to Lisbon.

"I fear we've gotten off on the wrong foot," said Jane. "You all seem to know me, but I've only met the stoic Mr. Cho here."

Lisbon sighed, suddenly feeling tired to the marrow of her bones. "I apologize for my abrupt behavior. I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon, and the other two members of my team are Agents Grace Van Pelt and Wayne Rigsby. We're from the Serious Crimes Unit."

Everyone nodded politely.

"That's better," said Jane. "Now, do sit down." There was just enough room on the couch and loveseat for everyone a tight fit. Lisbon found herself sitting directly across from their new team prospect.

"Serious Crimes, eh? Am I a suspect or something?" The prospect seemed to amuse rather than offend him.

"Not at all," said Lisbon. "Actually, our boss, Virgil Minelli, sent us to talk to you about your recent…contributions to the SFPD. We have a case underway that seems to have hit a dead end. It's an urgent matter—a child's life is at stake."

Jane's smile faded and he sat up straighter, his hand absently fiddling with his tie. "A child? With your team involved that probably means a kidnapping."

"Yes," said Lisbon simply.

Jane sat back against the soft leather again, tapping his lower lip with one finger.

"She's only three," said Van Pelt, her amber eyes imploring.

Jane expression softened as he studied Van Pelt's caring, beautiful face. He nodded. "So, you're asking for my input as a psychic then?"

"Yes," replied Lisbon. "I suppose we are."

"And you don't like asking, do you, Agent Lisbon?" His lips quirked as he hit the mark.

"No. I don't believe in psychics. I think you are like modern snake oil salesmen. I have faith we'll find Megan just fine without your help, but we're here because our boss told us to. For the record, he doesn't think you're actually a psychic either, but he's apparently heard good things about your investigative skills from SFPD."

"You're a pretty straight shooter, aren't you, Agent Lisbon," said Jane in admiration.

"In more ways than one," added Cho, the warning in his voice unmistakable.

"Aww, you're quite protective of your boss, aren't you, Kimball?"

"My _friends_ call me Kimball." There was no mistaking the implication of that, either.

Jane chuckled. "I like you, Kimball Cho. Well, thanks, Agent Lisbon, for the offer, but I think I'll pass."

"What?" she said in pure surprise. She could have sworn she was getting to him with the child angle. But then, wasn't his refusal what she'd wanted?

"Please, Mr. Jane," chimed in Van Pelt. "This little girl has been gone three days. God only knows what she's been going through. If we can't find her, maybe your psychic skills can. What if it were _your_ child? Wouldn't you want every last avenue to be—"

"But she's not," Jane interrupted, his charming demeanor changing quickly to ice cold. "I'm sorry, I really don't have the time. I have two more shows tomorrow at other venues, plus a few private sessions."

"Yeah," said Rigsby in barely disguised disgust. "We saw a couple of those hanging outside your dressing room."

Jane ignored him and rose to his feet, walking to the door and opening it pointedly. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Lisbon stood too, reaching into her pocket and bringing out her handcuffs.

"Patrick Jane, you're under arrest."

Jane's eyes widened. "What? What for?"

"Two outstanding warrants in Orange County and one in LA."

If Cho was surprised, he didn't show it, but gladly went forward to roughly pull the psychic around so Lisbon could cuff him behind his back.

"Bet you didn't see this one coming, Psychic Man," Cho muttered under his breath.

TBC…

A/N: Yes, all will be revealed about the warrants and Jane's family soon. I'd love to hear your reaction so far, so please log in and let me know!

I'll have the conclusion of "Red Haze" posted soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Thanks for all the kind reviews/follows/favorites! I will answer each logged in review very soon. A special welcome to all you new readers of my work, who have been going back and reading my older stories. Thank you!

I hope you like chapter 2 of this fic. I'm trying to keep it on the light side, with only minor hints of tragedy. Enjoy!

**Chapter 2**

"We can't keep him, you know," said Minelli, looking at Jane through the one-way window of the CBI interrogation room.

"I promise I'll feed him every day," quipped Lisbon. "Sir, you said to get him here however I could, and I simply did a quick background check to find a way to 'entice' him."

"I had already done that before I even put you on this, Teresa. Those charges were dropped months ago; the online file just hasn't been updated yet. You know how those things are; with budget cuts, updates are totally backlogged right now. You should have made a few calls first, like I did."

Of course she'd known this; she just hadn't bothered to make the calls. She could claim to his lawyer (if he ever chose to call one) that it was an honest mistake. The warrants were still on file, after all.

"How'd he get out of those fraud charges?" she asked. "Sleep with the plaintiffs?"

Minelli smirked. "Paid them off two of them, apparently. Not sure how he got off with the other one."

Oh, she had a pretty good idea how. She gave an unladylike snort, her eyes drifting back to the handsomest man ever to have graced Interrogation Room 2. It was downright disgusting how attractive he was.

"Let me see if I can convince him to help with Megan first before we let him go."

Minelli shook his head. "You're walking a fine line here, Lisbon. If it weren't for that little girl…well…anyway, never mind; I don't want to know. Do what you gotta do." He held up a hand and exited the observation room.

Lisbon continued to watch their detainee for a few moments, noting the range of subtle emotions crossing his face, the occasional smile at his own no doubt brilliantly amusing thoughts. At first she'd wanted nothing to do with this conman, but his arrogance, his refusal to help, stirred up her ambition and she knew there was no way she'd let him go unless he agreed to find that little girl.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane sat in the uncomfortable chair in the small room, feeling much like an animal on display in a zoo. He was fairly certain that Lisbon woman and her crew were ogling him from the other side of the reflective window, which was the only thing that prevented him from picking the lock in his handcuffs and waltzing out of there. At least they'd put his hands in front of him instead of behind his back like before. He always hated when cops did that; his shoulders would hurt for days.

He sighed. He knew those charges were bogus, at least now. He'd wormed his way out of them months ago, even though it had cost him the price of a trip to Hawaii to do it. That one in LA, though—he'd felt a little bit like a gigolo (not for the first time) trying to get out of that one. Good thing they'd come to a rather satisfying resolution…at the same time no less. He grinned just thinking about it. What was her name again? Morgan? Miranda? Oh well, he was terrible with names if he didn't care about the person. Besides, every woman was _Baby_ to him in the dark.

He perked up when he heard the door open and in came Agent Lisbon. She was a cute little thing, all elfin features and enormous green eyes. She was the kind of woman that looked demure in public, but would be a tigress in the bedroom. He grinned suggestively at her, but she seemed immune as she sat in the chair across from him and set down a blue file folder.

"This is a mistake," he said for perhaps the millionth time. He dipped his head a little to look into her downcast eyes as she opened the folder. "What's more…you know it is, Agent Lisbon."

She shrugged. "Prove it. But it's late on a Friday night, Mr. Jane. No one's picking up the phone in the state records office right now. The wheels of justice turn even slower on the weekends." She slid the open file across the table, and he was hit sharply in the gut by the eight-by-ten glossy of a three-year-old girl with big brown eyes. He looked back up at Lisbon angrily.

"This is blackmail, you realize."

She ignored him and began her spiel. "Megan Claremont. Age three. Abducted from her home three nights ago. Her father was away on business. Her mother was asleep in her bedroom down the hall. No one else was in the house except the nanny. No sign of forced entry. The windows and doors were shut and locked. We've had no ransom demands, so money likely wasn't the motive, which is odd, because the Claremont are rolling in dough."

Of course, all of this had Jane sorting through the evidence in his mind, questions occurring to him and theories forming. This was the way he always was, whether it was with a Suduko puzzle, a mystery novel, or a police investigation. No matter how hard he tried, he could never shut off his damned brain. He turned his head away from Megan's innocent little face and wished he could cover his ears, but that was difficult with his hands cuffed. He found he was angrier than he had been in years.

"Look, this is false arrest, police brutality, abuse of power, kidnapping—" he proceeded to cite several section and paragraph numbers.

"You've memorized the California Penal Code?" she said, impressed. "Although from your rap sheet, it's probably become like your Bible, hasn't it? Why don't you call your lawyer if you feel you're being held against your will?"

His full lips formed a straight line. "I hate lawyers."

She chuckled. "Me too, but they seem to be a necessary evil in our society."

"Evil? Yes. Necessary? Not so much if you know your way around a courtroom."

"Right."

She'd read his file. She's seen he'd only hired a lawyer one time to deal with one of his many arrests, and that was twenty years ago. She'd been counting on his past behavior to keep him from calling one now. Funny thing was, he'd never been convicted of a felony, and the two misdemeanors on his record had been for petty larceny when he was eighteen. The man was slick, she'd give him that.

She noted then that he was studying her, and she felt a little like a bug under a microscope—a microscope that could also read minds and see into your soul. It was very disconcerting.

"This isn't about little Megan anymore, is it?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Now it's just as much about getting at me as finding that little girl. You've made it your new mission in life to bend me to your will, but I'm telling you right now, I rarely change my mind, and you can look at me all you want with those tempting Irish eyes of yours, but the answer is still no."

She wanted to kick herself for the telltale blush she felt rising in her cheeks at his backhanded compliment.

"Don't try to cold read me, or whatever you call it. My team is out there without me, double checking old leads, trying to comfort the parents, while I'm stuck here trying to get you to have a little common decency and help us. So yes, that is my mission right now. I don't know what made you into the self-centered, selfish man you've become, but I wonder that you're able to sleep at night."

A shadow crossed his features, but he covered it quickly with a humorless smile.

"You can only keep me until this warrant mess is cleared up, Agent Lisbon, and I gotta tell ya, the accommodations here are as plush as I've ever seen in a cop shop. I could hold out for days in digs like this." He leaned back in his chair, the front legs lifting up from the floor as he casually rocked.

"Oh, really? Well, I can certainly do something about that."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Twenty minutes later, the metal barred door of the basement holding cell slammed in Jane's face. And they hadn't even uncuffed him.

"Come on, Lisbon," he said, immediately going to the door. He held up his bound hands. "The least you could do is uncuff me so I can use the facilities, such as they are," he lamented, glancing at the stall-less commode. "Besides, it stinks to high heaven in here."

"Fine," she relented, and he stuck his hands through the bars expectantly. Lisbon dug for the keys from her pocket. She hesitated, looking up into his eyes. Suddenly, she seemed frozen by his gaze, her mind going blank as he stared deeply into her green depths.

"You're going to let me go, Teresa," she heard his soft, soothing voice telling her. "You don't need my help anymore and you never want to see me again…"

"I don't?" she heard herself saying, as if from a great distance.

"No. But when I'm gone, you'll think of me often with great regret, wondering what it would have been like to have slept with me, to feel our warm, naked bodies—"

"What?" she said, his audacious words jarring her awake. "What the hell-?" She took a few stumbling steps backward, breaking the hold of his gaze. She blinked, shook her head violently and risked looking at him again. "Were you trying to…_hypnotize_ me?"

He shrugged, and a small grin creased his smooth cheeks. "It was worth a try. Can you blame me?"

"Can I _blame_ you? I can't believe you—you bastard! What you did was—was tantamount to assault!"

She pocketed her keys and glared at him. "You can rot in here for all I care. And I hope you pee your pants, you manipulative asshole!" She turned and stomped out of the room.

"Wait!" she heard him calling. "I'm sorry, Lisbon! Come back, please! I really do need to use the bathroom!"

But by then she was out of earshot, and Jane went to his cell's cot and sat down heavily on the thin mattress, crossing his legs in resignation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Lisbon entered the bullpen upstairs, she was still boiling mad and deeply offended. A shiver ran visibly through her body. She felt like she'd been violated. How dare he! What's more, he'd planted the suggestion of them naked and rolling around on a bed into her mind, and she was having a terrible time dislodging it.

_Damn him. Damn him to hell._

She was about to cut him loose just to get him the hell out of the building, when the rest of her team entered the room. Their shoulders were slumped, their expressions sullen and frustrated.

"Any luck?" she asked hopefully, though their answer was obvious.

"Nothing," said Rigsby. "It's like she disappeared from the face of the earth."

"Any headway with Jane?" asked Van Pelt.

"No," Lisbon replied succinctly, choosing in her embarrassment not to mention how he'd nearly succeeded in taking over her mind. She was sure that wouldn't inspire much confidence in her position as a leader.

Van Pelt returned her gun to her desk drawer and withdrew a file folder.

"Boss," she said. "Did you happen to get a look at Jane's history?"

She felt herself grimace at the thought of looking into anything to do with that slimy grifter ever again.

"I just did a preliminary search of his rap sheet. It was extensive enough, believe me, and went a long way toward telling me what kind of man he is."

"True," she conceded. "But what about what happened to his family?"

Van Pelt had everyone's attention now. "What do you mean?" asked Lisbon.

"Here," she said gravely. "You've got to see for yourself." The junior agent handed her the file. Lisbon opened it, flipping in annoyance past the impossibly gorgeous professional headshot until she found a newspaper report of a car accident dated ten years before. Lisbon began reading aloud for the men's benefit.

"_A woman and child were killed Wednesday night in a car collision on State Highway 1 near Malibu. At approximately 10:15 p.m., Angela Jane, 30, and her daughter, Charlotte Jane, age 6, swerved to avoid an oncoming vehicle driven by William Hyland, 48, sending her Mercedes through the guardrail and plummeting into the rocky shore of the Pacific Ocean. Both passengers were likely killed on impact, reported California Highway Patrol. Hyland's pickup truck apparently swerved into Jane's lane as she was driving northbound toward their Malibu residence. Hyland's vehicle was sent spinning, where it collided with a cliff face along the highway, killing him instantly, stated CHP. Jane's husband, Patrick Jane, also of Malibu, had been following his wife in the car behind and witnessed the entire incident. He called in the accident. Hyland's blood alcohol level was tested at three times the legal limit..." _

"Dear God," she murmured. Lisbon looked up from the report, noting the grim faces of her colleagues. She supposed this explained how a man could become so careless of his own life and the lives of others. She flipped past the police and coroner's reports on the three accident victims, until she saw a photograph of Angela and Charlotte Jane, the little girl's eyes, large brown and sparkling into the camera impishly, a different color though very reminiscent of her father's…not to mention Megan Claremont's.

Lisbon's fingers went to pinch the bridge of her nose in sudden mental exhaustion.

"Poor man," commented Van Pelt. "It must be terrible to live with witnessing your own family's deaths."

"Yeah," agreed Cho.

"No wonder he didn't want to be involved in a case dealing with a child," said Rigsby. Lisbon had been thinking the same thing.

"Well, obviously, if we're going to persuade Jane to help with Megan's case, we have to take a different tack," Lisbon said.

"Why?" asked Cho. "Seems to me appealing to his loss would be the best way."

"Not very ethical though," said Van Pelt. "Or nice."

"I hate to point out the obvious, but his family is dead. And if he could help save this little girl, I don't see a problem in briefly hurting a fake psychic's sensitivities," added Rigsby.

Cho was nodding his agreement.

They all looked to Lisbon now. She could certainly see both sides of this. "Maybe there's a compromise," she said finally. "Rigsby, bring Mr. Jane back up to the interrogation room—no, to my office. Oh, and could you uncuff him and let him use the men's room?"

Rigbsy gave her a mildly baffled look. "Yes ma'am," he said automatically.

"What do you have in mind, Boss?" asked Van Pelt.

"You've heard that expression about flies and honey, haven't you?" she asked mysteriously, her cheeks dimpling.

Van Pelt grinned at Lisbon's back as she went to her office to await her guest.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was relieved to be out of the cuffs and the dingy cell with its off-putting smell, and even more relieved after his visit to the restroom. The tall guy (Bigsby? Rigsby?) escorted him from the elevator to a glass-doored office with Teresa Lisbon's name on it.

Rigbsy tapped lightly and Lisbon's muffled reply told them to enter.

"Thanks, Rigsby. Mr. Jane, please have a seat." She indicated the chair across the desk from where she sat as Rigsby made a hasty retreat.

He complied. "You're one-eighties are making me dizzy," he commented dryly. "So what's it gonna be now, copper? Thumb screws? Rubber hoses? Brass knuckles maybe?"

She allowed herself a small smile, dimples and everything, and Jane's eyes narrowed. He wasn't buying this particular change either.

"Look, Mr. Jane," she said contritely. "I believe I owe you an apology. I was remiss in not reading the entire file on you. I understand now your reluctance to work with us on the Megan Claremont case."

Jane tensed, his face going blank though his heart had picked up speed. "I believe you're approaching the territory where it's none of your business."

"Maybe. And I don't mean to pry into your personal life, really. It's just that—well, we're desperate here. I'm sure you know intellectually that one tragedy has nothing to do with the other. And believe me, I understand. I sympathize. I—"

"Just cut the crap, Agent Lisbon. I can tell you've lost loved ones before, probably having to do with…alcohol?" She blanched. "You were about to share that experience to try to show that you empathize with me. We've come round from bad cop to good cop now—oldest trick in the book. Only I've never seen it used with just one cop…"

"Fine," she said, giving up all pretense of understanding and patience. "What will it take to get you to help us? We can't pay you the haul you took in for your show tonight, but we _can_ pay you. And I wasn't going to use your personal tragedy to manipulate you here, but if that's what works to get you onboard, that's what I'll do."

"Lisbon—" he began, his tone low and dangerous. She ignored him.

"What happened to your wife and daughter was horrible—a senseless waste. I am genuinely heartbroken for what you must have gone through—and obviously are still going through. But what if someone had been able to save your daughter at the last minute, but they didn't step in because it would have been too painful? Like it or not, you are in that position now, Mr. Jane. The Claremonts need you to help save their daughter. Why don't you get your head out of your ass and do something unselfish for a change."

There ensued a stunned silence, both of them shocked by the truth of her words, but more so that she'd had the temerity to say them.

"Well," he said, and to their further surprise, he grinned. "There she is at last; the real Lisbon. Straight shooter, just like I said before."

She wasn't going to apologize for the truth, so she looked at him with equal directness and said, "So, are you going to help us or not?"

He regarded her with acute admiration. No woman had spoken to him like that since his wife. He was amazed at how much he'd missed that, had _needed_ that, and he felt the protective ice around his heart crack a little. It was such a physical sensation that he had to stop his hand from clutching at his chest.

"Well?" she prompted impatiently. She was to the point now that she was tired of wrangling with him. If he said no, she'd cut him free. If he said yes, well, she'd put him to work immediately. Time was running out here, and things were becoming dire to say the least.

"Yes, I'll help," he said finally. "But I want something in return."

"I said we'll pay you-"

"Meh. Money's not the issue here." He slid to the edge of his seat, his hands on her desk as he leaned closer to her. The way he was looking at her held her instantly in thrall, even though she knew he wasn't trying to hypnotize her again. His expensive cologne surrounded her, his blue-green eyes dark with seduction, his lips—her gaze moved quickly away from the sensuality of those full lips to rise jerkily to his eyes again. Lisbon felt her heart pick up speed, her hands go damp with nervousness.

"No, all I want from you, Agent Lisbon, is one…kiss."

"What?" she managed.

"You heard me," he said, sitting back and casually looking at his perfectly manicured nails.

"But that's sexual harassment," she finally sputtered. "Blackmail even—"

"What's good for the goose…"he countered, lifting an ironic eyebrow.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Now who's being selfish?"

She stared at him. "You're bluffing."

He met her eyes again. "Try me. One kiss…with tongue…lasting at least…hmmm…thirty seconds."

"You're despicable."

"How can you say that, Agent Lisbon? You haven't even kissed me yet." His smile grew wide and devilish, and she couldn't decide whether to throw her stapler at him or punch him in the nose.

"Get the hell out of my office," she said instead, standing up to her full height and pointing at the door. He wasn't intimidated in the least.

He shrugged. "Seems to me one kiss would be a small price to pay to save the life of a little girl. Guess I was wrong." He stood up. "Nice meeting you, Teresa. We could have been so good together…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane believed he'd gotten cleanly away as he pressed the button to the elevator. It had been a perfect plan. He had insulted her professional sensibilities, but hadn't gone too far by suggesting she sleep with him—that might be construed as solicitation by a cop of her standing. And, as predicted, she got pissed off and sent him packing. It had been fun sparing with the uptight agent, but his show must go on, and there was no room in his life for altruism.

The image of his daughter flashed before him, and he closed his eyes against the pain of it. But just as he managed to push Charlotte's beloved face aside as he'd done more and more successfully the past few years, Megan Claremont's large brown eyes loomed before him in replacement.

_Dammit,_ he swore to himself. Lisbon had made some valid points about him and his self-centered attitude, but he didn't know if he could face it if he got involved and then was on the scene when they found that little girl dead. For Jane knew in his gut Megan was dead. Three days with no contact from her kidnappers? Odds were against her survival. His involvement at this late date was pointless.

Just as the elevator door slid open, he heard the tap of high-heeled boots nearly running to catch up with him.

"Wait! Jane!"

He turned to see Agent Lisbon, her lithe little body moving purposefully toward him.

"Yes?"

"Okay," she said, slightly breathless, her high color not likely from the short jaunt from her office. "I'll do it. Find Megan, and…and I'll kiss you."

A/N: Aw, you knew she'd say yes, didn't you? Hope you're having fun with this. Please log in a let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So glad you seem to be enjoying this fic! Thanks so much for the great reviews. My Twitter friends are responsible for this late post—they voted to have a longer chapter today rather than a shorter one last night. So thank (or blame) them for this extra long chapter. (If you are on Twitter, I'd love to see you there joining our sometimes crazy conversations! I'm Donnamour1969 there as well.) I hope you like this chapter—the romance is seriously ramping up on this one.

**Chapter 3**

Jane stood there, looking at her blankly, but noticing everything about her in one glance: flushed cheeks, small breasts rising and falling within her green silk blouse, large eyes enhanced by the vivid color she wore. She was beautiful, he realized absently.

"Well…do we have a deal?" she prompted.

Jane let the elevator close behind him. "What's changed in the last two minutes?" he hedged.

"I'm willing to do whatever it takes to save a child, no matter how offensive or degrading. You?"

He grinned at her quick wit. He reached out a hand then, touching her cheek, taken aback slightly that her skin was so soft. He hid his reaction well, though, and looked at her, his eyes taking over the caress.

"I guess we all have our price. Mine has gone up to ten thousand dollars…plus the kiss."

She gasped. "No way that's happening."

He grinned and relented. "Oh well; didn't hurt to ask." Then his face turned sober.

"You realize that this girl is likely dead, and that you're hiring me to find her corpse?"

Lisbon's face fell too. "Yes. But at least we could put her parents out of their misery. At this point, I'm sure the waiting is almost as painful as the truth. I've seen them, Jane. They go back and forth between hope and despair. It's terrible."

"Yes," he replied simply. "Better to know one way or another, I imagine." He sighed, and for the first time Lisbon caught a glimpse of what she suspected was the real Jane. He was a man haunted by grief and pain of his own, and no matter how big an ass he was on the outside, this wasn't going to be easy for him on the inside. She stuck out her hand.

"Do we have a deal?

He hesitated just a fraction, then reached out a warm, graceful hand, taking hers firmly. She automatically moved to shake his, but he stepped forward and drew her knuckles to his mouth. He looked up to catch her reaction, which was gratifyingly surprised and beautifully flustered.

"Consider this a deposit on my final payment," he murmured, his mouth moving against the back of her hand as he spoke. She helplessly allowed the kiss, then came to herself and pulled on her hand almost desperately. Jane's grin returned, and he released her.

"Now, suppose you take me to meet the Claremonts?"

She nodded stiffly. "Let me get my sidearm and keys," she said. "Wait here."

He could have punched the elevator button again and left her in the lurch, but he didn't. He told himself it had absolutely nothing to do with the sweet taste of her skin that still lingered on his lips.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon drove the company SUV to the Claremont residence in and exclusive area of Sacramento, El Dorado Hills. Jane sat in the passenger's seat, the night affording them a semblance of privacy within the large vehicle. Neither of them said much, both preoccupied with their moment by the elevator and the dread each felt as they neared the home of the missing little girl.

Lisbon stopped at a gate, rolling down her window to identify herself at the security monitor. The gate opened and she drove up to a Tudor style mansion, complete with tall stone turret. The impressive house was lit up like they were having a party.

"Nice digs," Jane commented.

"I told you they were rich."

They parked behind several other cars in the drive and went up the front steps. Lisbon knocked and they were given solemn entry by one of the Claremonts' relatives. Peggy Claremont's father, Lisbon remembered.

Inside the immaculate home they were led to a living area, where the anxious parents held court. Upon seeing Lisbon, Peggy and Mark Claremont stood eagerly.

"Any news?" Peggy asked tearfully.

"No," Lisbon said sympathetically. "But I've brought someone who is very good at solving mysteries. This is Patrick Jane," she introduced. "A…private consultant to the CBI." Jane took each parent's hand, murmuring vague pleasantries and trying to stop himself from being caught up in their hopeful stares. He nodded to the others in attendance, the friends and relatives who'd gathered for support.

"May I see Megan's room?" Jane asked.

"Of course," replied Mark Claremont. Peggy apparently couldn't bear to go in there, so the young man—an attorney in the family firm, Jane guessed—led them up a winding staircase to the top of the turret. It was like a little princess lived there, everything pink and frilly, complete with a tower window where she could pretend a prince would ascend and rescue her. Disney movie posters, along with several of kittens, decorated the walls near the white four-post, canopied bed.

"We spoil her, I know," said Claremont. "But she's still the sweetest little girl…" he broke off with a small hitch in his voice, swallowing against his own tears.

"Daughters were meant to be spoiled," said Jane with a small smile of complete understanding. It was in that moment that Lisbon realized she could like this man, that there was way more to him than the con artist and charmer he presented to the world.

"Yes," agreed Claremont.

Jane didn't spend much time in the room, seeming to see all he needed to know in a few sweeping glances. "May I speak to the nanny," asked Jane, the father nodded, relieved to be leaving the room full of bittersweet memories.

The nanny turned out to be a young girl in her twenties, eyes red with crying, and also, Jane saw immediately, with guilt.

"Tell me what happened the night Megan disappeared."

"She took her bath, I helped her dress for bed, and her parents came in to read to her and tuck her in at about eight o'clock. I went to bed about three hours later. My room is next to Megan's so I can hear her in the night."

"And you heard nothing?" Jane asked.

"No."

"What are you feeling so guilty about?"

"What? Well, obviously I should have heard whoever took her come into the room. It was my fault."

"No," commented Jane. "It wasn't just that. Any person would feel that way, but they would know that it wasn't truly their fault if they had done everything they were supposed to do. No, there's something else eating you up from the inside. You'll feel much better if you share it now."

The nanny looked away from Jane's penetrating eyes, then she glanced briefly yet fearfully at her employee's.

"Come on," Jane prompted. "No matter what happens, you'll finally feel the weight of the world lift off your shoulders, and help ease the suffering of this family."

The young woman began to cry in earnest now.

"Jane—" Lisbon began, but Jane lifted a staying hand.

"I lied," the nanny said finally. "You'd asked me to lock the back door that night, Mrs. Claremont, to reset the alarm. But I-I forgot to. I forgot…but I remembered early the next morning before I went in to wake up Megan, and I locked up before anyone else in the house was awake. I'm so sorry…"

The rest of her words were unintelligible with her hysterical cries. No one moved to comfort her.

"Get out of my house," Peggy Claremont suddenly screamed. "It's all your fault! It's all your fault!"

The girl ran with a cry from the room. Jane watched her calmly, then turned to Claremont, who was holding his wife tightly to his chest.

"Show me the back door," Jane told him.

Claremont handed his wife to another relative and led Jane, Lisbon, and a few other family members through the kitchen to the back door. It opened to a huge, fenced backyard, complete with playground equipment and tree house. Claremont flipped on the outside lights.

"Shoo!" he yelled suddenly at an orange tabby. "Damn cats. They dig up the camellia beds. Megan's always wanted a cat, but Peggy's allergic…" His voice was tremulous with grief.

The cat ran behind some bushes near the fence, it's collar jingling. Jane stepped out onto the carefully manicured lawn, looking at the tops of the neighbor's houses on each side. "I assume you've gone door-to-door throughout the neighborhood," Jane said to Lisbon.

"Yes. Next door to the south there was no one home; the family is on vacation in LA. We and some volunteers were able to talk to most everyone within a ten block radius, and no one seemed suspicious."

"Hmm," said Jane noncommittally. His eyes rested on the foliage where the cat had darted. "Tell me, Mr. Claremont," he asked suddenly. "Do you have a flashlight?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

And that was how Lisbon ended up on her hands and knees in the dirt behind a hedge in the Claremont's backyard.

"This is ridiculous," Lisbon was muttering. "Why exactly are we chasing a cat?"

"Ah-ha," said Jane when he found the broken plank of the wooden fence. "As I suspected." It was just big enough for a cat—and a small child—to crawl through. Jane shone the flashlight through the opening, catching the glowing green eyes of the feline in question in the next yard. It was sitting near the southern neighbor's door, nonchalantly licking its paws. Jane's light startled it, and it went to the small pet door which opened for the cat as if by magic.

"Is there a gate connecting the two properties?" Jane called from behind the hedge.

"No," replied Claremont.

"Well, 'good fences make good neighbors,'" Jane quoted under his breath. He shone the light on Lisbon. "But they make searching for missing children difficult."

"What?" She whispered. You don't think…?"

"I certainly do." He began kicking the already broken area of the eight-foot fence.

"What the hell are you two doing back there?" demanded Claremont. Jane ignored him and continued kicking.

"Jane, you can't just ruin people's property like that," Lisbon hissed. "And besides, we need a warrant to go in the neighbor's back yard without permission."

Jane's head appeared above the hedge. "Mr. Claremont? You wouldn't happen to have your neighbor's cell number, would you?"

"Uh, my wife does. Why?"

"Why don't you give them a call and get permission for us to search their back yard." Realizing that something was definitely up, Claremont took off back to the house at a dead run.

By this time, Jane had widened the gap enough that a full-grown man could barely squeeze through it, which is exactly what he did. He smiled as he felt Lisbon pushing on his ass to help him through. She followed soon after, standing up and brushing off the front of her soiled clothing in disgust.

"If this doesn't pan out, you're paying my dry cleaning bill."

"I figured a girl like you didn't mind getting a little dirty every once in awhile," he said naughtily, wiping at his expensive suit.

She ignored him and walked ahead to the pet door through which the tabby had disappeared.

"Did you notice that collar the cat was wearing?" asked Jane. "It's the kind that has a sensor that allows only the pet wearing it on its collar to open the door to come into the house…or leave."

"Oh, yeah. I've seen those advertised." She dropped to her knees before the small door and felt the metal. She knocked on it. "Megan?" she called. "Are you in there sweetie? I'm a friend of your mommy's. Can you come to the kitty door please?"  
Lisbon looked at Jane, amazed that the little girl's disappearance could be solved so easily, that she'd been right under their noses this whole time.

"Shh…" hushed Jane. "Listen."

There were light little taps, as if small, bare feet were slapping hard tile.

"Megan?"said Lisbon.

"Mommy? I want to go home!"

Lisbon's eyes lit up. "Stand away from the door, Megan. We're going to have to break it open, okay? Don't be afraid. Your daddy and mommy are coming."

She glanced at Jane, who still held the flashlight. "You want to give me a hand here?" she asked. He set down the light on a nearby table. He was smiling, and she felt the same smile lighting her own face. _They'd found her._

Jane picked up a heavy patio chair and swung it at the door with all his might. Lisbon stepped back as Jane knocked the doorknob off and then regrouped to swing the chair again. It took two more tries to break open the door, until at last it swung open, and they were greeted by a little girl with big brown eyes, her face tear streaked from fear and longing. She stood shyly in the doorway to the kitchen in a stained Tinker-Bell nightgown and bare feet.

Lisbon approached her as if she might a frightened animal. "It's okay, Megan. Your mommy and daddy sent us to look for you. Mr. Jane just opened the door for us. He's a friend too."

"You are?" she asked, looking admiringly up at Jane. Jane felt his throat constrict with unexpected emotion, and he could only nod at first. Then Megan said: "I like your hair!" She was most assuredly speaking to Jane. He laughed then, an odd, strangled sound, and Megan suddenly rushed to him, her arms going round his legs. His mind was awakened to countless, purposefully forgotten scenes like this from his past, when his own Charlotte would greet him in just this way, and he would bend over and take her lovingly into his arms. Almost against his will, he found himself doing the same with Megan.

He held the little girl to him, his eyes tightly closed, inhaling the scent of her hair and her achingly familiar little girl smell, surprisingly fresh after three days.

"Did you take a bath tonight?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," she said. "I used Mrs. Clancy's apricot shampoo."

"Well, you smell heavenly," he told her, pulling back a little to look at the recovered treasure he held. She reached one little hand up to touch his blonde curls. "My Cinderella dolly has your exact same hair," she told him emphatically.

Lisbon stood by, watching the scene as tears fell unabated down her cheeks. Over Megan's shoulder, she met Jane's eyes, saw the smile that had overtaken his entire face. She was sure it was the first completely genuine, unguarded smile she'd ever seen from him, and her heart jerked painfully. In that moment, Teresa felt as breathless as if she'd been hit in the stomach, hard.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, after the other officers had left, including the patrol car that had arrived after Jane and Lisbon had tripped the Clancy's house alarm, Lisbon said her good-byes to the Claremonts. Little Megan had been fawned over and had been fed and changed, then tucked into her own little princess bed.

In her halting little voice, she'd told them how she'd heard the cat meowing outside three nights before, so she'd gone outside to help him. He actually came up to her and let her pet him for once, and when something startled him, she followed him behind the hedge. She'd caught up with him on the Clancy's back patio, petted him some more, then watched as he went toward the little door.

"Like the one in _Alice in Wonderland," _she'd told her enraptured audience. "Only I could fit through it,"she'd said triumphantly. She'd tried to stop the cat from leaving by holding onto its tail, following right behind it into the house. Once inside, the door wouldn't open again—Jane had pointed out that it would only open to the cat whose sensor was in its collar.

"I couldn't get out again," she said. The doors wouldn't unlock, and I tried but that cat didn't want me to catch him. I looked and looked for a telephone, but they didn't have any. Mommy taught me to dial 911."

Like many people these days, the Clancy's must have done away with their landline and only used cell phones. So Megan stayed in her neighbor's house alone, slept in the Clancy's bed, bathed in their tub, and ate from their well-stocked kitchen pantry.

So, as she was preparing to take her leave, Lisbon looked around for Jane but couldn't find him. For someone who had seemed to love the limelight so much, Jane had been extremely awkward and almost shy in the midst of the Claremont family's adulation and gratitude. She was about to write him off as long gone, when suddenly it occurred to her where he might have escaped to. She went next door to the Clancy home—through the front door this time—and found that it was open, the lights on in the back of the house.

"Jane?" she called.

"In here," he said from the kitchen.

He was standing there, surveying the counters littered with empty cookie and cracker boxes, a half-eaten jar of peanut butter, and a sink full of used cups of juice.

"What a resourceful little girl," Jane said, munching on a cookie.

"Yes." Lisbon smiled. "Thank God you found her though. The Clancy's weren't due back for another four days. Looks like her cookie supply was about to run out."

"She would have been fine," Jane said knowingly.

"I feel so…stupid," Lisbon admitted. "She was right next door all along. I knocked on this door myself."

"She probably hid in fear," Jane said. "Besides, her mother likely told her never to answer the door by herself to strangers. It's not your fault, Agent Lisbon."

"But how did you know how to find her?"

"I put myself in her little shoes," he said. "She had kitten posters on her wall, yet they couldn't have a cat because of her mother's allergies. When I saw that cat in the backyard—well, you understood right away what I was doing. No one had been thinking like a little girl, and that's no fault of anyone's." He shrugged. "Adults tend to think like adults."

"Whereas you…" she teased, and he grinned, but didn't argue.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked. "I'm finished here. I'll drop you at your hotel and then I need to go back to HQ and fill out some paperwork."

Jane looked down at his Rolex. "It's after two in the morning. Can't paperwork wait until tomorrow? No offense, Lisbon, but you look all in."

She brushed at her hair self-consciously. "I'm sure I feel even more exhausted than I look," she said. "But it's a good kind of tired. A _relieved_ kind of tired."

They were both quiet for a moment, Lisbon leaning against the kitchen counter, Jane finishing his cookie.

"What you did here, Mr. Jane…I don't know how to repay you. I mean, the family is so grateful—"

"I'm just glad it turned out this way, and not in the way I had been dreading. And yes, Agent Lisbon," he concluded, a wicked spark appearing in his eyes. "I believe you _do_ know how to repay me."

She gulped softly, her heart pounding. "Okay…I suppose a deal's a deal. How do you uh, want to do this?"

He regarded her a moment, then looked at their surroundings. "I'm not really sure the atmosphere is right. And we're both very tired. No, I'll come by your work in the morning to collect."

"No!"

"Come on, Lisbon, a deal's a deal."

"I'm not reneging. Can't we just do this away from my work? I mean, how would it look to my team?" Her eyes pleaded him for mercy, and he was tempted to torture her a little more, but he found to his surprise that now he could refuse her nothing, not when she was looking at him like that.

"Fine," he said. "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll make…arrangements."

She swallowed, feeling like she'd dodged a bullet. "You ready?" she repeated, trying hard to ignore his amused smirk.

"Lead the way," he said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. She preceded him out of the kitchen and he followed her back through the house. She didn't turn to look, but Lisbon had the distinct, womanly feeling that he was looking at her ass the entire time.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon barely slept the entire night, tossing and turning, Patrick Jane's face when he held Megan permanently imprinted on her mind. He'd been so kind, so sweet to that little girl, and she knew she was getting a glimpse into what kind of father he had been, what kind of man. The years he'd spent in self-indulgence had likely been a way to forget his past, to fill his loss the only way he knew how. She had wondered before how he could sleep at night, and now she could guess that a man who had been hiding that much pain inside must not sleep well at all.

Speaking of which…she yawned and sipped her coffee, reaching absently for the bear claw Van Pelt had brought in to the office for closed case donuts. She'd called them all the night before, giving them the basics of what had happened. Naturally, they'd been as relieved as she, but this morning, when she filled them in on all the details of Jane's incredible intuition, they'd been completely enthralled.

"Wow," Rigsby had said, while eating his third jelly donut. "Hard to believe such an ass could turn out to be so useful."

"He's psychic," Van Pelt contended. "I mean, who else would have thought to follow a cat to find a missing child?"

"I just feel like an idiot that I didn't think of it myself," lamented Cho, reflecting Lisbon's own feelings of personal failure.

"I know what you mean," she agreed.

Now, an hour later, Lisbon tried to work on the final reports detailing Megan's rescue, but her eyes kept straying to her desk phone. He said he'd call, and she felt wound up with nervous energy. She tried to blame it on the coffee and little sleep, but she knew that the main thing that had her in such an uncharacteristic tizzy was the thought of Jane exacting his payment.

How would it feel, those full, sensual lips on hers? How should she react? Should she just stand stiffly while he had his way with her mouth, or would she be tempted to fully participate? She was still riding the high of rescuing Megan, while trying to reconcile Naughty Jane with Good Jane. The former had been intriguing enough, but now, combined with what she'd discovered of the latter, well, it made him downright captivating.

A knock on her door made her start. It was Rigsby. "Hey, Boss, Jane just pulled into the parking lot."

"What?" she said, and found herself trying not run to the window in the bullpen to see. There he was, getting out of his red Porsche convertible, his golden hair glinting in the sun, straightening his designer suit and walking to the door of the building out of sight of the window. _He must have already been cleared by Minelli,_ she thought.

"Would you look at that car," Rigsby said to Cho, who had remained calmly at his desk. "I'm in the wrong line of work." At Lisbon's chiding look, he coughed a little and flushed scarlet. "That's not what I meant, Boss."

Cho's lips quirked. Van Pelt was watching too in the next window. "Must be nice," she murmured.

It was funny how, all of a sudden, having solved this case right from under them, Lisbon and her team had forgotten what an asshole he'd been before he'd agreed to sign on. She was almost hoping now that Naughty Jane would be making his reappearance this morning, so she could get back to disliking the man. But then she shivered a bit, thinking of what a kiss from Naughty Jane might feel like.

Jane came out of the elevator a few minutes later, and the team moved casually back to their desks so they wouldn't be caught watching him.

"Good morning, everyone," he greeted the room at large. His eyes were searching for Lisbon, but she had high-tailed it to the break room.

"Good morning," said Van Pelt brightly. "Agent Lisbon was just telling us how you found Megan. We are so grateful to you, you don't even know."

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It was nothing," he said.

"Still, man," said Rigsby, going over to shake his hand. "It was pretty creative thinking. Your skills could be put to good work around here."

Jane was taken aback, especially when he met Cho's eyes, no longer looking at him with contempt, but with a hint of admiration.

"I'm not exactly known for my good deeds," Jane said coldly. "I've just come to collect my payment. Is Agent Lisbon around?"

There was disappointment in the eyes of Lisbon's team, and Jane instantly regretted his words, even though he was certainly used to making statements like that, meant to cover his true feelings. Their crestfallen faces shouldn't have affected him so much.

"She's in the break room. Through there," Van Pelt said helpfully, though her voice had grown much colder.

He nodded to them. "Well, see you around. Nice working with you," he said dryly.

He found her making coffee in the little employee kitchenette.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone low and angry.

"I told you I'd call this morning."

"You led me to believe you'd call on the phone. This isn't a nineteenth century parlor; I'm not receiving gentlemen callers."

Jane chuckled softly, amused with her overreaction.

"Okay, then come for a drive with me."

"No thanks."

He shrugged, and moved to stand in her personal space, putting his hands on her slim shoulders to turn her to face him directly. "All right, then, Agent Lisbon, pucker up…"

She stepped away from him, but now he had her trapped against the counter, his sexy scent teasing her nostrils.

"Are you nuts? We can't do it here!' she hissed.

"Why not?"

"I—I thought you said a kitchen didn't have the proper ambiance or some crap like that."

He grinned. "_Atmosphere,_ Lisbon, but you're quite right. Come with me and I'll take you where there's not a kitchen in sight, away from the prying eyes of your curious coworkers."

As if on cue, Rigsby entered the break room, clearing his throat to get by them to the refrigerator. Jane raised one eyebrow as if to say, _See?_

They stood watching him in silence as he grabbed a carton of milk, then took it and a glass hurriedly out of the room. Lisbon's head dropped to her chest, and she closed her eyes in embarrassment at how things must have looked. She let out a low groan of frustration and raised her head in resignation.

"Let's get out of here then. But what do I tell everyone when I go zooming off in your sports car in the middle of the morning?"

"There was a _serious crime_ committed at the casino," he suggested with mock urgency.

She rolled her eyes. "That's not CBI's jurisdiction; that's on a Native American reservation. You would call the tribal police or the Feds."

"Come on, Lisbon, work with me here," he said, both annoyed and amused. "I'm happy enough to find a broom closet or the men's room—I find that I'm not as picky this morning as I had been last night."

Indeed, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her and their deal. That's why he'd gotten up early, carefully put on his favorite blue suit (the one that always got him the most compliments from the ladies) and silver tie. He'd shaved extra close, and splashed on his best cologne. She had hereby become a challenge to him, and Jane thrived on challenges. Solving that case had given him almost a high, for it had turned out to be so unlike his dire predictions. He'd found this child, had done a truly good thing for the first time in years. It had felt good, and he'd sensed that even Angela would have approved.

He was feeling bold and just a little reckless, anxious now to solve the mystery of Teresa Lisbon's kisses. As he looked at her in the unromantic fluorescent light, he could almost taste the sweetness of her lips, feel the heated velvet of her mouth. That mouth with its charming, kissable dimples had haunted his dreams all night. He was glad his suit jacket was buttoned in front of his slacks.

"Fine," she said, just stopping herself from slamming down the coffee pot. She seemed to count internally, then gently laid it on the coffee maker burner. "But let me do the talking."

Jane smiled. "How come you seem to have all the control in this relationship?"

She bristled, just like he'd hoped. "This is not a relationship, you pig. I'll pay you what I owe you, then you can take your little foreign job car and your Armani suit and hit the road to your next swindler show. This is just business, remember?"

But he was not insulted in the least. "Whatever you say, dear," he said, like a long-suffering spouse.

On the way down the hall, Lisbon peeped her head into the bullpen. "Mr. Jane and I need to confirm one last thing with the Claremont case. We'll be back in a bit."

"Sure thing, Boss," said Rigsby.

"Have fun," said Van Pelt, a knowing gleam in her eye.

Cho just nodded, but she felt his suspicious speculation as acutely as if she were lying to her father.

"Well, that was lame," Jane said to her in the elevator. "You're a rotten liar. I could give you a few pointers though..."

"No thanks," she said vehemently, hating the deception she'd just perpetrated.

They couldn't get out of the CBI building fast enough for Lisbon. Jane didn't even have time to open her door before she climbed into the low-slung Porsche, buckled in, and sat back expectantly. He took his time getting into his own side.

"Wave," he said, looking up toward the HQ's windows. "We've got an audience."

Jane waved and grinned, but Lisbon just sank further into her seat. "I hate you," she muttered.

He started the car, revving the engine loudly, then peeled out of the parking lot with a satisfactory squeal of tires. The next twenty minutes were as harrowing an experience as Lisbon had ever had in a car, as Jane drove expertly through the traffic, going ridiculously fast even before they got onto the freeway.

"You realize I'm a cop here, Mr. Andretti," she shouted over the rushing wind, gripping the armrests for dear life. She'd worn her hair down, and it was now blowing all around her face and into her mouth, but she didn't dare let go of her death grip to fix it.

He laughed gleefully. "Relax, Agent Lisbon. Have some fun for a change."

"Near death experiences aren't normally fun," she shot back.

"Don't give me that. I've seen how you cops drive."

She snorted. "I'm sure you have, on many occasions, probably in pursuit of you. I saw your record, remember? It's a wonder you still have your license with all the speeding tickets you've accumlated."

"Fast cars and faster women, Lisbon. That's the life for me." But his words were somewhat solemn, and she risked moving one hand to brush her hair from her eyes and looked at him closely. He caught her watching him, and reverted back to his devil-may-care smile.

"We're almost there," he told her.

They'd passed out of the city, and after another few miles, he exited the freeway and signaled at a country road. A sign on the corner announced: _Happy Tree Orchards, Fresh Organic Peaches,_ and they followed the road a mile into the country. Jane slowed the Porsche considerably, and the drive actually became pleasant. The golden California hills surrounded them, dotted with black and white cows, and she watched a hawk floating gently on the breeze. Eucalyptus trees scented the air, occasional leaves falling into the car. She held one to her nose and inhaled. Lisbon was a city girl, but she could certainly appreciate the beauty of her surroundings, not to mention her company.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Lisbon commented. "I'm pretty much a sure thing here."

Jane laughed. "I just wanted to make our first kiss special."

"_First_ kiss? _Only _kiss, buddy, and under duress, I might add. I don't know, Jane, the way you're building this thing up, you run the risk of making this kiss fall even farther below my meager expectations."

"Aw, been looking forward to it as much as I have, eh?"

She blushed at being caught in the truth, but found some acid words to cover up her embarrassment. "Looking forward to it like I do my annual flu shot. A necessary bit of pain that might make me feel a little sick later."

"We'll see," he said confidently, then parked in front of a large fruit stand. "Wait here," he told her. He jumped out and came back moments later with a small carton of peaches, each the size of a grapefruit. He gave them to Lisbon to hold, as he sped off again, taking a dirt cart trail that led off into the orchard. The scent of sweet peaches settled around them, and she could hear the birds chirping in the trees even above the purring of the car. Beneath a tall peach tree, he stopped the engine, took a deep, cleansing breath of country air, and ordered: "Get out."

She didn't much like being ordered about by a man who wasn't her boss, but she just wanted to get this over with, to end this torture of anticipation before she passed out from her racing heart. He went round to her side as she was unbuckling her seatbelt, taking the peaches from her and pulling on her hand to help her out. He removed one fuzzy peach, leaving the carton on the hood of the car. He kept hold of her hand as he walked with her into the sunshine, then, without saying a word, held the peach up to her lips. She hesitated, but took a bite, feeling surreally like Eve in the Garden.

The scent of the fruit combined with his masculine cologne and the heat of the day, made her feel almost dizzy. She met his eyes, and found herself opening her mouth almost against her will. _Was he hypnotizing her again?_

The peach was sweet and amazingly juicy, and she laughed around her bite as she reached up a hand to wipe her chin. The flesh was pink and still warm from the sun. She met his eyes, his pupils nearly blotting out his irises with desire. Her legs grew suddenly weak. Slowly, he turned the peach and took a bite in exactly the same place she had. They munched on the fruit a moment, staring at each other with such anticipation that Lisbon's breath began to come out in soft little pants.

His hand fell and she closed her eyes as he leaned in closer. The first touch of his lips was impossibly soft, incredibly sweet, redolent with the fruit they'd just shared. She remembered that she'd decided earlier to just stand still and allow him to take his thirty seconds' worth, not to actively participate in any way. But when he began to move his mouth, molding it to hers, then flicking her bottom lick with the tip of his hot tongue, she felt her resolve begin to wobble. Her hands at her sides fisted to prevent them from moving to his shoulders, from delving into his Cinderella curls. The thought of Megan's words made her smile a little, and she felt his answering smile right before he plunged his tongue between her lips.

She gasped against the sensual, peach-flavored onslaught, her mouth opening further as he began tasting the interior of her cheeks, circling her tongue with his. After a few moments, his tongue suddenly slipped out of her mouth and she felt immediate, acute disappointment.

"Kiss me back," he whispered persuasively, beginning again to nibble on her lips.

"No," she breathed. "That wasn't part of the—"

Patience shot, Jane swooped in again, dropping the half-eaten peach on the ground and drawing her almost roughly into his arms. His mouth fused to hers, and he didn't wait for her lips to part on their own accord. He plundered them like a pirate, ravaging her mouth and gripping her waist, pressing her lower body to his hardness. The world suddenly shifted for Lisbon, and she went from passive receiver to active participant, her hands going unerringly to his hair, moaning at its softness as she dueled his tongue for dominance.

Before long, they were both trembling, and Jane had the crazy desire to see her body naked in the California sunshine, wanted nothing more in the world than to bury himself into her small body until they both cried out their release. But he couldn't do it. He knew as he kissed her that she wouldn't be just some one-night groupie that would be happy for a private reading and a mindless fuck. Teresa Lisbon had, in less than twenty-four hours, managed to manipulate his thinking more effectively than any conman's tricks he'd ever used.

He pulled himself almost violently away from her, watching as she stumbled at his sudden loss of support. They were both breathing heavily, shocked at the unexpected intensity.

"That," she said, panting between words, "was…much…more than…thirty…seconds…"

He grinned. He couldn't help it. "So sue me," he replied.

A/N: How was that? I hope the rescue sequence wasn't too unbelievable. If there are mistakes in my descriptions of events, please ignore them. I'm no expert on kitty doors. Nevertheless, I'd love for you to sign in and tell me what you think of this chapter as a whole.

There's definitely more to come…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I just wanted to take a moment to remind you, gentle readers, that this fic is classified as humor/romance/fluff. It will be light on angst, light on serious cases, heavy on romance and sometimes outright silliness. If you are looking for something brilliant in the crime fighting area, or filled with realistic angst, you've come to the wrong place.

That being said, thanks to those of you who actually "get" that. Your kind reviews are very inspiring. And a special thanks to my friends on Twitter. You know why :).

**Chapter 4**

Lisbon didn't think it was possible, but the ride back to CBI headquarters was even more fraught with tension than the drive to the orchard. She kept replaying that kiss in her mind, and the warm, sweet scent emanating from the peach carton in her lap only enhanced the memory. His lips had been hotly demanding, which had stirred her woman's heart on a fundamental level long forgotten. She was used to being in charge, but with just one kiss, she'd found herself—if only for a brief few minutes—totally at the mercy of a man for the first time in years. She hadn't liked that one bit. Okay, that was a lie—she'd enjoyed every second of it, but she was royally pissed off that she'd given into him so readily. Problem was, she didn't know whether she was angrier with Jane for putting her in that position, or with herself for allowing it.

As for Jane, he seemed unusually quiet, but a faint smile lingered on those demanding lips of his. She groaned internally, flinching every time he reached down between them in the close space to handle the gear shift. When they finally reached the CBI, she curtly told him to let her out in front. When he moved to get out and open her door for her (like the gentleman she knew he wasn't), she called a terse "Don't bother" and nearly slammed the car door.

She did manage a final glance at him, saying, "Consider yourself paid in full. That ends our business. Good-bye, Mr. Jane."

He grinned, unperturbed by her attitude and her less than heartfelt farewell.

"Never good-bye, Teresa—till we meet again."

"Go to hell," she replied, and turned her back on the psychic for the last time.

"Oh, I think our reunion will be long before I get _there_," he said mysteriously.

His infuriating chuckle could be heard even over the low hum of the engine before he sped away, driving out of her life forever.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the first time in years, Lisbon was late for work the next morning. Two nights in a row with little sleep (for the same bloody reason) had caught up with her, and when she'd finally achieved a doze around five a.m., she'd slept on through her alarm. Despite her hurried shower and Jane-worthy driving through morning traffic, she still managed to be forty-five minutes late. She was in such a hurry to get inside the building that she completely missed the red Porsche parked behind a company van in the parking lot.

Her surprise then, when she stopped in the bullpen to greet her team, must have been quite comical.

"Morning, Boss," chorused her colleagues.

But her gaze was locked on Patrick Jane, sitting on the seldom used leather couch against the window, a stack of files on the cushion beside him and one open in his lap. In one hand he held an unfamiliar blue tea cup that she insanely thought brought out more of the blue in his blue-green eyes. And he was grinning at her with such unrepentant glee that she felt the immediate urge to throw something at him.

"Sorry I'm late," she said dully. "I uh, got held up in traffic."

_Liar, _Jane mouthed from the couch. She turned angrily scarlet.

She made herself slowly walk over to stand before him, her movements stiff with ire.

"Don't you have some widows and orphans to fleece?" she asked icily. She felt the shocked eyes of her team members on her back, but she didn't care.

"Oh, didn't I tell you yesterday? Agent Minelli was so impressed with my crime-solving abilities that he asked if I could take a look at some cold cases, see if I could spy anything new."

"No, you most certainly didn't tell me that yesterday."

"Sorry," he said, his eyes sparkling, and she knew he wasn't sorry at all. It had been his plan all along to spring this on her in the most embarrassing way imaginable. "Oh, and he told me I could negotiate payment with _you,_ Agent Lisbon. I told him I was sure you and I could reach some sort of…understanding."

It took all of Lisbon's willpower not to gasp in outrage.

"I was thinking," he continued, much to her amazement, "what we agreed to last time wasn't going to be quite enough this time, given the complexity of some of these older cases, not to mention the fact that I'm postponing a few of my shows in order to stay in Sacramento…are you okay, Agent Lisbon?"

"Yes," she bit out. "Would you mind coming to my office, so we can discuss this issue in private, please?" What she had to say would definitely be more effective without an audience for him to show off for.

"Of course," he said with a pleasant grin.

He set down the file he'd been perusing on the rest of the stack and rose to his feet, set down his cup, and gamely following after her. When he reached her office door, she shut it behind them with a controlled click, then rounded on him like a bull seeing red.

"Why are you here? I told you our personal business was done, Jane. Don't even think about manipulating me into some other sick physical payment. The only reason I kissed you was because a little girl was in danger. A stack of dusty old files is not enough to get me to compromise my principles again."

He stepped closer to her, and she could smell what she realized was herbal tea on his breath. "Megan was the _only_ reason you kissed me?" he said, his voice rich and seductive. "It had nothing to do with how attracted you are to me?" His eyes went to her lips, and she felt it almost like an actual caress.

She stepped away and put her desk between them. "No," she lied, and it was just as unconvincing as all her other lies over the past twenty-four hours.

"So I should tell Minelli that I won't be able to give him the real killer in the Thomson file, right?"

"What? You've figured out the identity of the Thomson killer?"

"Yep. But I'm keeping that valuable bit of information to myself."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're full of crap."

"Try me. Or don't…I'll just go tell Minelli I can't solve any more cases because you refuse to work with me…that we can't come to a reasonable agreement about the question of compensation." He made a desultory move toward the door.

"We haven't even discussed compensation," she protested. "Well, not of the realistic kind."

"So let's discuss it. Let the negotiations begin. I solve say—three cold cases and you let me see your naked breasts. Three more, and I get to see the full monty."

There was no accounting for the way her heart skipped a beat. "You're out of your ever-loving mind," she sputtered, blushing.

He laughed at her expression, an odd mix of shock and fury, plus a hint of something else that had his own pulse racing. Despite that, he held up his hands in surrender, genuinely fearful she'd attack him at any moment—and not in a good way.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Not that I wouldn't mind, of course—"

"Jane—" she warned.

"Actually, I was thinking of something more along the lines of…dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, you know, that meal after lunch, in which civilized people consume—"

"I _know_ what dinner is," but her lips twitched slightly and he took that as a sign he was making headway.

For Lisbon's part, she was feeling distinctly like she was losing control of the entire situation. No one had ever been able to manipulate her reactions like he could. She'd lost count of the many different emotions she'd felt, just in the space of ten minutes' time. She fought to suppress them all and confront him with a blank expression, to act immune to his charming smile and how good he looked in a suit.

"Look, Jane," she tried again. "We are quite capable of handling our own cases, thank you very much. So, I'm sorry, but no deal. I think it would be best if you went back to your little show and forgot all about the CBI. Thank you for helping with Megan, but—"

"It's not a little show, you know."

She sighed. "Yes, I'm sorry. The amphitheatre at the casino was quite packed." He ignored her patronizing tone.

"I've had studio executives approach me about having my own television show."

"Really? Well, congratulations. Why don't you take them up on their offers and leave me—us—alone."

"Maybe I'm tired of it. Maybe my skills would be more useful elsewhere, like with the police, for example."

"Great. Find some other agency to help. I'm sure they'd be most appreciative."

He shook his head. "But you need me here, Lisbon. That pile of files was only _half_ of what Agent Cho had waiting for me. No offense to you or your team, but I could make your unit the top case-solvers in the entire CBI."

"Your ego knows no bounds, does it? Here's the thing, though. I think you like the money and the fame from being on stage. Sure, you might stick with us for awhile, because it's something different, and it would take you away from your boredom with being a fake psychic—at least for a while. But then, the showbiz bug would bite you again and you'd leave us in the lurch to pursue your _real _passion in life."

He raised an eyebrow. "Now who's playing psychic? I've been doing this job for ten years, Teresa, and various incarnations of the same all the rest of my life before that. I can cold read a client blindfolded from across a crowded room. No joke—that was part of my act not so long ago. Quite honestly, it's no longer a challenge for me. Solving cases for the CBI—now that's a challenge."

"You mean, _I'm_ a challenge."

"And you were complaining about _my_ ego? This has nothing to do with you or that magnificent, toe-curling, mind-altering kiss we shared yesterday."

"No," she replied, trying to remain unaffected by the image he'd painted, "it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm not one of your groupies waiting in line outside your door for a private consultation. Nothing to do with the fact that you believe you can manipulate me into your bed eventually, that because I allowed you to kiss me once, I'll allow you greater liberties in the future."

"You make it all sound so tawdry," he said with a smile.

"If the sleaze fits…"

He wasn't insulted. "How about a compromise?"

"Didn't I make myself clear? I'm not getting into any more situations with you where anything of mine will be _compromised_."

"Hear me out. Agree to work with me for say—two weeks. In that time, I'll solve as many cases as I can and be on my best behavior. I'll agree to accept whatever pittance they pay consultants these days so everything will be aboveboard. If by the end of two weeks, you feel I've earned it, _then_ you'll go out to dinner with me."

She knew she was being played, that she was on the cusp of being the mark in a long con. She could say no to him and send him on his merry way, but she knew with a certainty he'd go behind her back and cry to Minelli that she refused to negotiate with him. Minelli would be all over her case, and then Jane would get his two weeks (if not more) but would be on his _worst_ behavior just to spite her. She already knew that Naughty Jane was hard to resist, and two-plus weeks with him trying his best to seduce her...well, she couldn't even contemplate what might be the end result of that. As it was, all he need do was look at her, flash that smile, and she felt her knees grow weak. It was the worst example of a catch-22 she'd ever seen. She was damned any way she looked at it.

"If I agree to this, there will be no unwelcome touching, kissing, no innuendo—nothing in any way sexual in the presence of either myself or Van Pelt, understand?"

She knew he was parsing her words for some loophole, and she tried frantically to replay in her mind exactly what she'd just said.

"Agreed," he said solemnly. "And that goes for you too, right?"

"What?"

"I expect I should not have to deal with a sexually hostile work environment," he replied, paraphrasing California sexual harassment law.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Mr. Jane," she said ironically. "I too shall do my best to restrain myself."

He nodded. "Good. That's all I ask. Okay, now that that's settled…may I get back to work, before people start talking? Who knows what kind of innuendo I might have to contend with, Boss Lady."

When he gave her a mock salute and that all-too-familiar, wicked smile, she felt the subsequent reaction in her knees, and Lisbon had the feeling she'd just signed her own death warrant. So why was it she found herself smiling secretly the rest of the day?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the next week and a half, Jane was a near-perfect angel. He solved no less than five cold cases—and they had the suspects in lockup to prove it. Then they had a new murder case, and he'd tackled it with eagerness and finesse, managing to sniff out the killer (literally) within twenty-four hours, barely insulting anyone (well, no one who filed any lawsuits anyway). Much to Lisbon's consternation, the team's admiration for his unorthodox skills grew. It was in the middle of the second week, however, that things began to shift into a gray area, one in which, in hindsight, Lisbon had to admit she shared half the blame.

Despite the emergence of Good Jane, there was an underlying sexual chemistry that hummed just beneath the surface whenever Lisbon and Jane were working closely together—which was often. So it was with reluctance (and not without protest) that she took Jane on a late-night stake-out with her. Minelli had insisted, overseeing the minor details for once in a blue moon. It was a highly sensitive case involving the AG's nephew, and the boss wanted it handled with all due speed and discretion. Van Pelt was left in the office minding the technological store, while Cho and Rigsby were sent in search of an alternate suspect. Surveiling the nephew was left to Serious Crimes' new golden boy, along with the unit's lead investigator.

Lisbon and Jane settled into the darkness of the company van awaiting the next move of their suspect, on a quiet, tree-lined lane in a residential area of Sacramento. He had to leave his home sometime. Jane was more casual than she'd ever seen him—no tie, no jacket—and his hair was tousled, falling over his forehead in a boyish way she found highly appealing.

"Well," said Jane, unbuckling his seatbelt and adjusting his seat on the passenger's side to a more comfortable inclination. "I have to say I'm really excited about this—my first stake-out. Well, on _this _side of the surveillance van, anyway."

She smiled, and she realized that over the past week and a half, he'd given her many occasions to smile and even laugh. He was charming and funny and his thought processes were so fascinating that she found herself frequently watching him in awe. He loved magic and card tricks, as well as showing off those skills to a charmed audience. They'd all been victims of his cold read and had known the embarrassment of his ninety-nine percent accuracy rate. She'd found, much to her chagrin, that she liked Good Jane.

"Sorry this isn't nearly as exciting as it might look in the movies. It's a whole lot of coffee and waiting, and trying to stay awake."

"I know something that might remedy that." He twisted and reached behind his seat, bringing into the front a small picnic basket. He opened the lid and brought out crackers, a small assortment of cheeses, antipasti, and fruit. Sparkling cider finished the simple meal, along with a Thermos of the gourmet coffee she loved.

"No wine?" she asked, for she could barely form the words to thank him for his thoughtfulness.

"You're on duty. Besides, I don't drink."

"Oh," she said, understanding immediately. This was a revelation. She could see why he must have such a strong aversion to it, given that a drunk driver had killed his family. Having had an alcoholic for a father, she shied away from overindulging, herself. Still, it didn't quite fit in with the cosmopolitan air he normally projected. She was finding out every day that Patrick Jane wasn't as shallow as she'd originally thought. The man had hidden depths she was curious to explore further.

They munched on their snacks in companionable silence, staring across the street at the designated house.

"You think he killed that girl?" Lisbon asked of their suspect.

"Yes," said Jane. "Cho and Rigsby are barking up the wrong tree."

"We have to cover every base. You've obviously never been victim of an internal investigation."

She saw his smile in the half-light of a nearby street lamp. "Nope. That's one kind of investigation I haven't been party to."

"You like being the bad boy, don't you?" she asked, the words coming unbidden to her lips. He didn't even flinch at the question.

"Sometimes," he said honestly. "Sometimes not. It does get in the way of impressing the good girls occasionally."

This was wading into dangerous, personal waters, but Lisbon felt relaxed and was enjoying his company, so she found she didn't want to censor herself. Besides, she couldn't' recall a stake-out conversation that had been this interesting.

"And I imagine in your occupation, you attract quite a few of both kinds of women."

He turned to look at her directly, his eyes gleaming. "You could say that. If your next question is, which do I prefer, I'd have to say that the perfect woman is one who is very good…in _public_…"

She dimpled at him. "Typical male, I suppose. And here I thought you were different."

"You've thought about what kind of women I like?"

"No," she lied, "what kind of _man _you are." She hadn't meant it to, but she could hear that her own voice was fraught with innuendo.

"Oh, Teresa," he sighed, "if we keep up this line of conversation, I won't be responsible for the outcome."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that maybe she didn't want him to be responsible, but she clammed up and reached for another grape. Unfortunately, he'd reached for one at the same time, and their hands touched. She looked up at him, but neither of them moved their hand. Then he latched onto a grape and slowly raised it to her mouth. It was so reminiscent of the peach incident, that she caught her breath and watched his eyes as he pushed the grape against her lips. She opened to him, and saw his throat move spasmodically when his fingertip briefly touched her tongue. She chewed, praying she wouldn't choke.

"What is it with you and fruit," he asked softly, watching her closely. "that makes make me want to feed you with my hands?"

She shook her head, speechless.

"There's our suspect," he said in the same, low voice, still holding her gaze.

"Okay," she replied, mesmerized. "Huh? What?"

Jane nodded toward the window. "The garage door is opening."

"Holy-! Dammit!"

She turned so sharply that she knocked the plastic cup of cider out of his hand, spilling it in his lap. He hissed as the cold liquid sank into the crotch of his slacks, and he sat up involuntarily in his seat.

"Oh Jane! I'm so sorry!" she said, rebuckling her shoulder belt and waiting for the car to get a good distance down the street. She pulled away from the curb, allowing one car between them.

Without looking from the road, Lisbon grabbed a handful of paper napkins Jane had brought and reached over the middle console to wipe at the spill, inadvertently wiping one of his more sensitive areas.

He gasped again, for a much different reason.

"Lisbon, as much as I'm enjoying uh, what you're doing, any more of your help and I'll—oh—stop!" He half laughed, half cried. He put his hand on hers to still her awkward movements.

"Sorry," she said again, removing her hand, but not before she felt the heated fullness beneath the cold wetness of his pants.

The thrill she felt run through her moved decidedly from the gray area to well—whatever color area represented outright lust. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying not to think about where her hand had just been.

_Focus on the job at hand, Teresa. Focus on the hand job. No! The job! The job!_

But when she hazarded a glance at her companion, he was smiling knowingly.

A/N: It was hard to find a place to stop this chapter, so I'm posting this anyway. Not exactly a cliffhanger, but I wanted to get you a new chapter for the weekend since I didn't get one posted during the week. Next chapter will be more from Jane's pov. This is unusual for me to mainly focus on Lisbon, since I generally find it easier to write for Jane…Anyway, thanks for reading. I'd love to read your review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Here is a bonus weekend chapter. If you haven't yet read chapter 4, which I posted Friday night, please go back and read that first so you'll know what the heck is going on. Also, if you read ch. 4 before Saturday morning, I went back and changed Lisbon's last line in ch. 4. I think you might get a bigger laugh from it now, or so I hope.

This chapter has less dialogue, but is from Jane's point of view, as promised. When you get to the end, hopefully you won't mind all the exposition. It's rated "M," by the way…

**Chapter 5**

It had been a long two weeks, but Jane was proud of himself that he'd made it through, and on his best behavior, too. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a spate of self-denial, of self-censorship. Not that he longed to repeat the process, but as far as long cons went, he had to say it was worth the sacrifice, now that the prize was so near at hand.

Only one more day until he'd ask Lisbon out to dinner again, and he had the excited, hopeful feeling that she would say yes. He hadn't felt that way in a long while, probably because he hadn't taken the time since Angela's death to get to know a woman, at least more than in the Biblical sense. Sure, he'd pursued women who pretended to be hard-to-get, but once he'd gotten them, his interest would wane, and he'd move on, both literally and figuratively.

Teresa Lisbon was different. She was resisting him because she thought it would be a huge mistake to get involved with the likes of him. He couldn't really blame her, given his track record (just the parts she knew about), his deep-seated grief that he dealt with by not dealing with it, and his tendency to become obsessed with the things he desired. No, self-denial wasn't something he was used to. He'd played it cool this past two weeks, but actually, every time he was near her, he became quite overheated, and he could imagine that the taste of peaches lingered on his tongue. She wasn't playing at hard-to-get; this woman _was_ hard to get, and the more he wanted to get her, the harder he uh, got.

Three nights before, they'd followed the AD's nephew and, just as Jane had predicted, the guy had been disposing of evidence—namely, a bloodied woman's blouse. So much for the CBI's ability to keep the investigation discreet. After his arrest, the media had pounced upon the story immediately, and it was at the top of the news cycle. There followed two days of press conferences and lawyers and the tricky task of the Attorney General recusing himself from the case and taking a temporary leave of absence. There had been little or no time to pick up where he and Lisbon had left things in the surveillance van.

Now it was the Friday night of a three-day weekend, and everyone had been so exhausted, they'd likely left promptly at five. Or so Jane believed when he woke up from his nap on the couch in the bullpen. The couch, he'd discovered, was quite comfortable, and no one else ever used it. He'd learned quickly that in police work there was a lot of waiting, and cold cases sometimes bored him to sleep. He'd awakened on the inviting couch several times over the past two weeks with an open file on his chest. Now, he sat up, surprised when he glanced at his watch that it was after six. All the lights were off save the one on Van Pelt's desk, which she'd probably left on for his benefit. She was such a thoughtful girl, the lovely Grace—she certainly lived up to the promise of her name.

Jane rose and stretched, disappointed to see the light off in Lisbon's office too. He went to the window to look outside, and except for the CBI vehicles that were always parked in the lot, his Porsche and Lisbon's Mustang were the only ones still there. Thankfully, the media trucks were no longer outside the security gate, and he could see a lone man keeping watch in the gatehouse. It was eerily quiet in the old building, and he wondered where Lisbon might have taken herself. Where would a driven CBI agent go who was too tired to work, yet too tired to go home? Correction: where would a driven CBI agent go was too tired to work but who needed to work out her sexual frustrations? He grinned. Of course.

The elevator stopped on the basement level, and he was confronted by a sign with two arrows. One pointed to the Shooting Range, the other to the Gym. _Eenie, meenie, minie…_

As he got closer to the CBI Gym, Jane could hear the sound of a lone shower running in the women's locker room. His heart picked up speed, imagining Lisbon naked just a few feet beyond the opening. There was no door, just high cement walls that created a passageway designed to block curious views yet remain conveniently open to the women who entered. Jane knew it was the same setup as the men's locker room, as he'd explored this part of the building days before. He paused before the entryway. He could end both their agony right here. He knew from the way she looked at him, from the way she inhaled when their bodies accidentally (or not so accidentally) touched-hell, he knew from the way she'd kissed him that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. So, he could go in that locker room and take her hot, wet body against the white tiled shower wall with little or no objection, putting an end to this tension once (or maybe even twice) and for all.

Or, he could wait one more night—just one—and she would willingly go out with him. He could take things slowly, so when she finally gave in, it would be so sweet—_she_ would be so sweet, so giving. Teresa Lisbon would be a very giving lover, of that he had no doubt. All he would have to do was wait one more night.

_Screw it, _he thought. _I'm going in._

He'd only taken one step when a horrible noise filled the bathroom. His racing heart stumbled over a beat, and he was about to rush in to save Lisbon from whomever was attacking her when he realized that she wasn't in fact being brutalized from an unknown assailant. She was…singing?

_If you want my future, forget my past  
If you wanna get with me, better make it fast  
Now don't go wasting my precious time  
Get your act together we could be just fine…_

A yelp of laughter involuntarily escaped him, and he clamped his hand over his mouth and backed against the cool concrete wall, inadvertently knocking over a mop that had been propped against it. It slid to the floor with a loud _thwack._ Immediately, the caterwauling stopped.

"Who's there?" she demanded. "Jimmy? Is that you?" Jane assumed Jimmy was either the janitor or the night watchman.

The water abruptly ceased too. Jane stilled, wondering if he should risk her ire and announce himself, or try to escape with her possibly coming after him with her gun. That was an intriguing yet sobering thought.

His decision was made for him however as Lisbon suddenly appeared in a white robe whose terry cloth belt she hadn't take the time to tie. It hung open, revealing a shadowy glimpse of her wet cleavage, flat stomach, and the road to paradise below. Some of her dark, sopping hair was plastered to her neck, dripping in rivulets that led his eyes downward. She looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her. Of course, the picture was someone marred by the wicked looking handgun she held.

_Venus with a Gloch._

"Jane!" she gasped.

He put his hands up, but his grin split his face and his laughing eyes ran shamelessly up and down what he could see of her enticing figure, delightfully pink from the hot water.

"Don't shoot!" he said, but she still didn't lower her weapon.

"What the hell are you doing in here? Were you _spying_ on me?"

"No! No. I was just trying to find you. I wasn't going in there, I swear," he lied, "but then I heard this terrifying screech of what I thought was a woman in pain, and I was about to come in and rescue you."

"Screech?" she said, confused. Then it dawned on her, and her green eyes widened in supreme embarrassment, just as her grip tightened on her gun. "I oughta shoot you right now. It would be so easy to make it look like a terrible accident."

His smile didn't dim at all. "I'm truly sorry, Teresa. But have you ever really _listened _to yourself singing?" He shook his head mournfully. "It was an understandable mistake."

"I still have a gun, you know," she warned.

"Calm down, woman. I was just trying to find you to ask if you'd like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"What?"

"The two weeks. It's up tomorrow. Now, would you please put the goddamn gun down?"

She hesitated, then did what he asked. He risked walking closer to her, and she stilled, frozen to the spot as water pooled around her bare feet. Before she could figure out what he was about, he'd reached around her with both hands to find the dragging ends of her belt. He pulled one end through its missed loop, bending his blond head as if to focus on his actions, when really he was admiring her exposed skin. It was all he could do not to lick the droplets of water that had gathered on her creamy chest.

"I can tie that myself," she said in a hoarse whisper. "It's just hard to do with a gun in your hand."

He chuckled softly. "I can imagine."

"And I was in a hurry," she continued, knowing she was babbling but unable to stop.

"Hmmm," he said noncommittally, adjusting the lapels of the robe before tying the belt at her waist. He looked up from his task and met her dazed eyes.

"There," he said. She gave a little shiver at his nearness. "Cold?"

She shook her head. "No…And thanks."

He leaned in even closer, his lips a hair's breadth from hers. "You're welcome," he whispered, his pulse pounding in his head.

In a heroic effort to prolong the sexual tension, to do what he'd promised, he forced himself to take one step backward. But it was Lisbon who bridged the distance between them to go up on tiptoe and press her mouth to his. Two weeks with the memory of their first kiss haunting their thoughts, invading their dreams, was more than enough to reignite the passion they'd felt before. This time, they were both active participants from the moment they touched.

He pulled her to him and wasted no time in gently seducing open her mouth. No, he plundered, he consumed her lips and tongue with a hunger borne of desires valiantly kept at bay. She was way ahead of him anyway, dropping her gun into her robe pocket in order to sink both hands into his hair, meeting his tongue with an impressive skill that took away his breath, took away all coherent thought.

Jane had never been kissed like this before, as if he were the only person in the world and all attention was focused completely on him. It was touching. It was exhilarating. It brought out in him an equal intensity. He made a low, feral noise in his throat, his hands going back to the belt he'd just tied. He loosened it and she didn't protest, and he wanted to cry out at the feel of her warm, damp skin. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs finding her hard nipples. She moaned into his mouth.

His lips moved to her ear and he breathed her name, feeling her nearly melt against him, her knees growing weak. He turned her and pushed her gently against the wall for support as his mouth licked at the dampness of her throat, finding the droplets on her chest as sweet as he'd imagined. His lips replaced his hand at one small, perfectly formed breast, and the mewling sound she made was almost his undoing. He gave equal attention to her other swollen peak before impatiently dropping to his knees before her, unmindful of the water seeping into his slacks.

His tongue left a trail to her navel, and he encircled it while his fingers continued driving her mad above. And then he found the dark hair at the apex of her thighs and he paused, listening to her pant with desire, her hands tugging and pulling at his hair as she waited for him in crazed anticipation.

His hands drifted down from her breasts, tracing her toned stomach muscles, then he raised one trembling leg to kiss the silky skin of her inner thigh. He hooked her leg over his shoulder, opening her to his seeking lips and greedy tongue. Her hands went to his shoulders for support as he parted her, then lapped with deep, wet strokes, each of which elicited a long, keening moan. She tasted of clean tangerines and spice, and he grew heady with the fragrance along with the sounds she was making.

It wasn't long before her trembling signaled her impending release and he increased his tempo, circling, sucking, licking until she cried out in rapture. He allowed her to experience tremor after tremor before he reverently kissed her there one last time before lowering her leg. She promptly slid down the wall in exhaustion.

He watched her in satisfaction, despite the fact that he hadn't had his own release yet. She was even more lovely in the afterglow, her face and chest flushed pink, her eyes tightly closed as she tried to relax, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Her breasts, still revealed between the parted robe, rose and fell unsteadily. _He_ had done this to her. He'd made this strong, sensual woman come apart in his arms.

It hadn't mattered so much to Jane what a woman felt in recent years. He'd always see that his partner would find her pleasure first, but until now it had just been a mechanical thing, a challenge to see how many times or how quickly she would climax. No, he hadn't cared enough about what was going on in their minds and hearts as well, not since…Angela. The very idea of this hit him like a jolt from the blue, and it felt almost sacrilegious to have even entertained such a notion. But the truth of it was there before him, in the dazed moss colored eyes that opened to him, in the small smile that hovered at her lips.

"Wow," she murmured in dull amusement. "You're good at that."

He smiled at her, and reached out to tenderly slick back the damp hair from her eyes.

He almost said that it came with practice, but he knew that wouldn't be met with the humor he'd intended. Instead he merely thanked her, still struck by his amazing epiphany.

She sat up slightly, reaching for the leather belt at his waist, her eyes now glowing with sensual intent. To even his own surprise, he caught her hands.

"No," he said softly. "Not yet."

She raised an eyebrow, her hand moving from beneath his to feel the firm ridge of his erection. "Why not? You seem more than ready to me."

"I'm…afraid."

It was her turn to be startled, but she masked it well, no doubt misreading his words, perhaps believing there was some physical reason why he couldn't continue what they'd started.

"We can go slowly…I'll do whatever you need me to—"

"No," he smiled. "It's not what you're thinking. Everything is in working order, I assure you. No, I'm afraid…that you won't go out to dinner with me."

"What?"

"I fear you'll regret this tomorrow, that you'll say I reneged on our agreement and use it as an excuse to get out of sharing a meal with me."

"But you _did_ renege on our agreement," she countered.

He shook his head. "The deal was that I would refrain from making any _unwanted _advances—your word, not mine. And you, my dear, made the first advance this time."

He had her there. "I knew you'd twist my words to your advantage somehow," she said, but she didn't seem the least bit angry by this fact, more…impressed. "And I suppose you're right. I kissed you first tonight."

"Yes, you most certainly did," and he smiled back at her, sharing in her amusement.

"So, the ball is clearly in my court now. And there will be no more kisses tonight."

"Seriously? I didn't say we couldn't—you know—keep going." Her sudden shyness was completely endearing and he almost gave in, his heart pounding at the thought of how wonderful it would feel to join himself with her body. He knew instinctively it would be beyond anything he'd ever experienced before, and that was what really terrified him.

"No," he said, reaching for her hands to pull her back to her feet. "A deal's a deal, remember? Just because you didn't keep your end of it…"

She shook her head. "Just when I think I have you figured out, Patrick Jane, you blindside me like this. Why do I feel like you're playing me like one of your pathetic, desperate widows-?"

"I'm not," he interrupted, his face solemn. He leaned forward to kiss her gently on the cheek. "I'll pick you up tomorrow night at seven," he told her. "Good night, Teresa."

She watched in shock as he released her hands, stepped back, and left her standing there, her robe still hanging open almost as widely as her jaw.

A/N: I think perhaps our psychic is taming up rather nicely, don't you? I hope you enjoyed this chapter enough to post a review. I'll see you back here later in the week.

*The musical selection quoted above was The Spice Girls' _"Wannabe", _written by: HALLIWELL, GERI/BUNTON, EMMA LEE/BROWN, and MELANIE JANINE.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Okay, so I'm doing something I really hate doing, and that is giving a blanket thank you for all the lovely reviews I received for chapter 5. I do so like to thank you individually, because you did take the time to review, but I was so pressed for time this week that I felt you might appreciate me devoting time to getting another chapter out rather than going back and replying. I hope I chose wisely. So, thank you for reviewing, from the bottom of my heart.

Now, for this chapter. If I titled chapters (something I'm generally just too lazy to do), it would be called _The Date. _So how's that for an introduction? Enjoy.

**Chapter 6**

Lisbon found herself doing laundry at five-thirty the next morning, mainly because she'd still been awake at about four, and had given up trying to sleep by five. Normally she would relish the thought of three full days off where she could catch up on her housework and run a few errands, then go back into the office where it was quiet and she could actually get some work done. But now she just felt exhausted and jittery, hopped up on her second cup of coffee within a half-hour, and nervous as hell about her date that night. She just wanted to get it over with.

Jane had been right. She _did_ have regrets about what they'd done the night before. Or, rather, what she'd let _him_ do, but not in the way he'd been thinking she would. She hadn't liked leaving him…unsatisfied. It was not something she was used to doing with men or with anyone in any situation (except a perp, of course), and she didn't like having what felt like unfinished business between them. It would have been much better to have done the deed and gotten it all out of their systems. Then, Jane would leave the CBI and go back to his life and she would be left with hers, such that it was.

Lisbon put the load of laundry into the dryer, started it, and leaned against the machine. Who was she kidding? She regretted not doing the deed because she wanted him, and thinking of what she had missed was what had kept her awake and anxious for their date. But she knew that once they'd had sex, he'd be gone, and she'd be left wondering what might have been.

So why had he stopped, really? She had felt his desire for her. The fear she wouldn't go out to dinner with him was a load of crap, and they both knew it, but she didn't know yet how big a load, or if there were any truth mixed in with the crap. She would definitely try to get to the bottom of that tonight. If he was conning her, she'd be on the lookout for anything. If he was sincere, and this dinner was truly worth putting off perhaps the best sex she'd ever have, she was damn well expecting steak and lobster. And chocolate cake.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She didn't ask how he knew where she lived; a man like Jane no doubt had his resources, and she hadn't called to tell him, either. So, she wasn't at all surprised when he arrived at her door at precisely seven o'clock. He'd given her no indication as to how she should dress, so she erred on the side of formality. One could never go wrong with a little black dress and high-heels, and judging by the look on his face when she opened the door to his confident knock, she'd chosen wisely.

"Agent Lisbon," he said, admiration in his eyes, "you clean up rather nicely."

She blushed despite the backhanded compliment. "Gee, thanks," she replied. "You too. But then, you're _always_ cleaned up."

He was wearing another of his beautiful suits, though slightly more formal than usual in black, his crisp white shirt in stark contrast to his black tie and tan skin. His hair, however, was less severe, allowing for the curls to go their natural way in just the precise manner she liked them, the sun streaks even more pronounced. Her fingers itched to touch them. How had he known? She blushed. He made a living knowing what women wanted; of course he'd known.

From behind his back he brought forth a single…_lollipop_? It was large and red and wrapped in festive cellophane. He presented it to her with a flourish fit for royalty, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

"Flowers just die," he told her, and she laughed.

She took the gift, ignoring the spark when his hand brushed hers. "Why do I also feel like this has a double meaning? Or maybe even a _triple_ meaning?"

He shrugged, but his smile grew. "It is what it is, Lisbon. Take it however you like, but I promise it comes with my best intentions."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, then went to the hook beside the door to retrieve her purse. She deposited the lollipop inside to take with her, but couldn't zip it closed because the stick was so long. She swallowed and laughed again to herself. Jane merely stood watching her unschooled reactions with extreme interest.

"Oh," he said. "You'll need a coat."

Her eyes narrowed. "It's summer, Jane, and still in the eighties outside."

"Not where we're going," he said mysteriously.

She didn't ask any more questions, but obediently left him in her small foyer to retrieve a coat from her bedroom. Her heart was pounding with excitement, and it wasn't just because of the adventure she knew she was about to embark upon with this handsome man. It was because when she looked at his mouth, all she could think of was what he'd done to her the night before. She almost reconsidered the heels, what with how wobbly her knees were feeling. She took a deep breath and opened her closet door, digging in the back for a black trench coat, which she draped over her arm.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

About twenty minutes into the drive, she realized they were heading toward the coast. He had considerately put up the top to the convertible, and she squinted sideways at him; the sun low on the horizon as they drove west.

"So, we're going to San Francisco, I'm guessing."

"Sort of," he said.

"Sausalito?"

"No. Quit guessing and enjoy the ride."

"Why the big secret?"

"You don't like surprises?"

"No."

He laughed. "Of course you like surprises. Everyone likes surprises, even when they claim they don't."

"Everyone likes _good _surprises."

"Don't worry; this is a good one." He managed to say that without a hint of suggestion.

She readjusted her seatbelt in the bucket seat, crossing then uncrossing her ankles. She drummed her nails on the armrest and tried not to notice how fast he was going.

"Stop fidgeting," he told her. "What are you so nervous about? I don't bite…well, unless…"

"Why are you doing this?"

He glanced at her, but she couldn't see his eyes against the dark sunglasses he wore. All she could see was her own frustrated expression.

"Could you narrow that down a bit?"

"_This_. Taking me to the coast for dinner. Staying on with the CBI for two weeks when you could be making thousands of dollars with your _usual_ show."

"My usual show? You think this is a show, Teresa?"

She took on the voice of a broadcast announcer: "Yes. It's the _Patrick Jane, Consultant Show_. Watch him amaze and delight the CBI, making suspects appear and the team leader's clothes disappear."

Neither of them laughed at her joke. Jane found to his surprise that he was genuinely hurt by her characterization.

"That's not fair," he said quietly.  
Lisbon felt instantly contrite. "I'm sorry." She sighed. "I didn't mean it."

"Yes, of course you did. People are usually at their most truthful when they're being sarcastic. Their tone is just a way to get away with saying what they really mean."

"Okay, then yes. I think this is all a game to you, or if not that, simply a new way to amuse yourself. I've been open with my views on this since the day you found Megan."

"So last night made no change in your opinion of me."

She wished she could see his eyes. "I don't know," she said.

"Well, that's the most honest thing you've said in awhile. And you know what? You have every reason not to trust me. I'm not a trustworthy person. I've misled many people—most of them women—in order to get them to give me money. I don't blame you for being suspicious. But I want you to remember that I could have very easily taken you last night and gone back to the showbiz circuit, yet I didn't, and here we are."

"So, why then?"

He was quiet a moment, and he faced forward again. "I don't know," he echoed. And she believed him.

"So where does that leave us?"

He grinned then. "With the beginnings of a great joke? A psychic and a cop were on their way to dinner…"

"Thank God they weren't walking into a bar. Although, a drink sounds very good right now…"

"And not a priest or a rabbi in sight," he finished dryly.

They both smiled, mainly from relief that some of the tension between them had dissipated-the emotional tension, at least, not the sexual. On the contrary, their little talk had amped that up a notch, at least in Lisbon's mind. And when Jane reached over to pick up her hand and lifted it for a slightly open-mouthed kiss on her palm, she had the strongest feeling the tension was getting to him too.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oh my God, Jane…this is really ridiculous."

"What? Why?"

"A yacht? You've got to be kidding me."

He shrugged. "In the summer I keep it docked in Northern California; in the winter it goes back to Malibu. You're lucky it's summer."

"I suppose…"

"Look, Lisbon. It's just a big boat. You grew up around a great lake; surely you went out in boats sometimes."

"What? How did you-? Nevermind." She shook her head. It must be her faint accent, or her bearing, or something else comprehensible only by him. Or maybe he'd Googled her. "It's not that. I'm not afraid."

"Not of the boat, at least."

She looked helplessly from her handsome escort to the beautiful yacht moored at San Francisco's South Beach Harbor. It was called the _Charlotte Ann. _ They had paused at the end of the gangplank, and Lisbon was looking up at its three levels in trepidation. This wasn't just a yacht, this wasn't just dinner, and she _was_ suddenly afraid of how fast everything was going.

"This is just dinner," he whispered near her ear, uncannily echoing her thoughts. She shivered. It was chilly on the coast, even on a summer night. Nothing at all to do with his proximity, she told herself.

"Okay," she said. "What the hell. What are we waiting for then?"

He took her hand and led her up the ramp into the small yacht. "That's the spirit," he said with a grin.

He gave her a quick tour of the lowest level, which housed two staterooms; the master complete with Jacuzzi. It was beautiful—sleek and stylish, just like him. On the mid-level was the dining area and galley, and on the upper level was the pilot house and the open deck. They stood there, feeling the waves gently rocking the deck beneath their feet, admiring the sunset. The Bay Bridge and Golden Gate glowed in the fading pink-hued sunlight. The cool breeze ruffled their hair, causing Lisbon to pull her coat more tightly about her sleeveless dress.

"Would you like to go to the dining room?" he asked. "It's much warmer inside."

"That would be nice," she told him. Two crewmen appeared from nowhere to seat them at the table with the large bay windows. Lisbon and Jane chatted over salad and tangy sourdough bread about his ocean adventures, and she enjoyed their carefree, entertaining banter. And when their main course was set before them, Lisbon nearly choked on her wine with laughter. Steak and lobster tail.

Jane patted her back helpfully, his expression curious at her reaction.

"You don't like surf and turf?" he inquired, after her coughing fit had subsided.

"Actually, it's one of my favorite meals," she said, smiling. But she wasn't about to tell him how he'd so easily read her mind again. Now, if they had chocolate cake for dessert, she vowed to become a true believer. She was saved by the chocolate mousse though, and she dug in with delight.

Jane watched her eat the rich dessert, his eyes growing as dark as the bay outside the window. She licked her spoon with a final flourish, dropping it in the glass bowl with a small clatter.

"Excellent," she sighed, sitting back in her chair and sipping more wine. "My compliments to the chef."

Jane grinned and reached for his sparkling water.

"It was catered from Alexander's. I'll thank him the next time I'm in town."

She raised an eyebrow. Pricey. She was glad she wasn't footing the bill. "Well, thank you. It really was a lovely meal."

"The company was equally delicious," he said softly. She blushed. She couldn't remember having had a better dinner, and it was so easy to succumb to his easy charm. He was witty and intelligent, and as beautiful to look at as the view outside. His handsome face combined with the wine to make her feel slightly giddy.

"Shall we take a little cruise out into the bay?" he asked.

"Sure," she said, feeling adventurous. She had no doubt he'd end the date and take her back to Sacramento right now, but Lisbon suddenly didn't want it to end. And yes, it definitely was a date, no denying that despite the fact that it was payment of sorts for his good behavior these past two weeks.

He stood and held out his hand for hers, which she offered without hesitation. He led her directly to the pilothouse, where she expected to meet a kindly old sea captain, but there was no one else there. When he started the engine of the boat himself, her eyes widened in surprise.

"You're driving?"

He chuckled. "Don't look so frightened, Lisbon. I promise it will be nothing like the Porsche."

"Ha," she said, but she had to admit that when he took the controls, her heart began thumping in anticipation of yet another of his wild rides. He looked out the window and waved to the crewmen, who untied the boat for them. Lisbon watched them walk back down the dock toward the shore.

"They're leaving?"

"Yes. We're all alone. Last chance to change your mind." His expression was both hopeful and challenging.

"No, I'm game."

"That's what I love about you, Teresa. You're absolutely fearless." She tried to ignore his ironic tone, because they both knew that when it came to him, she was scared to death.

True to his word, he drove slowly out into the bay, weighing anchor near the huge golden bridge, lit up now in the night. Behind them was a spectacular view of the city, and Lisbon couldn't resist going back out onto the open deck to admire the sparkling lights.

Jane came up behind her, encircling her body against the chill wind. He still only wore his suit coat, but the cold didn't seem to affect him in the slightest. She supposed she'd gone soft, having lived away from the Chicago winters for too many years now. She tried not to nuzzle against the warm, smooth cheek pressed against hers.

"Beautiful, yes?" he said.

_Yes, _she thought_. Yes you are._

"You certainly know how to show a girl a good time," she said drolly.

His laughter shook his body against her back, his heated breath near her neck warming her all the way to her toes.

He turned her gently so he could look into her face in the dim light from the pilothouse.

"Thanks for taking a chance on me," he said, and his words came out with much more emotion than he'd intended.

"Don't make me regret it," she whispered, before his lips claimed hers.

Once again, she felt a thrill course through her veins as he mastered her mouth with a sensual confidence that overwhelmed her senses. He tasted of chocolate and smelled of the sea air and expensive cologne, and she kissed him back with all the passion in her heart, her hands slipping inside his coat not only for warmth, but to pull him even closer. A few heady minutes later and he came up for air, his mouth raining kisses across her cheeks to her ear.

"Let's go downstairs," he breathed.

"Yes," she replied shakily.

It took them much longer to make it to the master stateroom, as they'd stopped frequently to kiss and paw each other in the narrow corridor. By the time they got there, she'd left her coat somewhere behind, and he was left with his dress shirt untucked and halfway unbuttoned. Inside the bedroom, he continued kissing her mercilessly, backing her toward the king-sized bed. Before she could fall onto it with him, she put her hands on his bare chest and tore her mouth away from the temptation of his.

"Wait," she panted. "I need to…freshen up."

He groaned a little in frustration, but obediently backed away, pointing to the door leading to the bathroom.

"Hurry," he said with a sexy growl.

She smiled and left him. In truth, she really needed a moment to catch her breath, to contemplate what she was about to do with this man without his seductive tongue in her mouth, muddying her brain. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the face of a stranger. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes slumberous, mascara smudged, lips swollen from his kisses. She smoothed down her windblown, Jane-mussed hair, and shook her head at herself in wonder. She wanted this man, and wisely or not, she intended to have him.

She used the facilities and washed her hands, her pulse simmering along with the butterflies in her stomach and the ache of need a little lower. She'd reached for the doorknob when something hanging on the back of the door caught her eye. She reached a shaking hand up to remove the small scraps of fabric. It was a red string bikini, she realized, likely hung there to drip dry after use. Her breath caught in her throat, and she found herself suddenly doing what she'd once vowed she'd never do in a man's home: she snooped. She opened drawers and found there an assortment of women's cosmetics and toiletries. In the cabinet above the toilet, she even found a box of tampons.

When she saw her face in the mirror again, gone was the romantic expression of a woman primed for lovemaking, and in its place a look of sheer anger. Not with Jane, but with herself. She opened the bathroom door, proud that she didn't pull it off its hinges.

She stood up short when she saw Jane reclining against the pillows in only his boxer briefs and that damnable smile of his. She couldn't help the jump of her heart, which made her hate herself even more. He saw her expression and sat up with concern.

"What's wro-?"

"How many other women have you brought aboard this—this—_Love Boat_?" She threw the bikini on the bed in front of him, and he stared at it a moment in annoyance. He couldn't even remember the woman it belonged to.

_So that was it. Dammit._ He'd forgotten in his excitement to have his hired crew clean out the cupboards before they got there; that wasn't like him at all. She made him feel slightly off his game. With the other women he'd brought here, it hadn't mattered what had been in his cupboards. With Teresa Lisbon, he should have had the whole damn place sanitized. He stood up, walking slowly toward her as one might approach a cornered doe.

"You want me to lie to you and say you're the only one? I wish I _could_ say that, Teresa, but I wouldn't even attempt to insult your intelligence. You knew who I was from the moment we met; why is it suddenly an issue? Did you think after what happened between us last night this dinner wouldn't turn into something more?"

"No," she said. "But I've been fooling myself. You have my body so tangled up in knots that my head hasn't been getting enough oxygen, apparently." His eyes flashed briefly in masculine triumph, infuriating her all the more.

"There's no denying I want you, Jane, but neither do I want to be counted among your conquests. Being here with you, on this boat that was paid for by your manipulation of a million other women like me, I suddenly feel so…cheap. Take me home."

"No."

"You realize I have a gun in my purse, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Along with her toothbrush, condoms, a change of underwear, and that damned lollipop. Too bad said purse was upstairs in the dining room, hanging on the back of her chair.

"What? You're going to hijack my yacht and force me to take you back to the harbor?" He couldn't help grinning at the absurdity. "I would never have taken you for a pirate, Agent Lisbon."

She moved toward the door, but he was closer, and blocked the only exit.

"Get out of my way, or I'll break your fuckin' arms."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you certainly know how to cuss like a sailor."

"I mean it Jane. I'm a cop, remember? I could kill you with my bare hands."

"Of that I have no doubt. But you won't," he said, daring to reach up and touch her cheek. She stiffened in a warning he did not heed.

"You don't think so?"

"No."

She had him on the floor in an instant, the offending hand behind his back. He grunted in painful surprise, and she planted her knee on his spine to hold him. He tried to squirm out of it, thinking that his greater size would be a factor, but she pulled his arm more tightly until he yelped.

"I suggest you hold still," she said.

His chuckle was muffled by the carpet beneath his face. "Well, now you've got me in this position, what do you expect to do with me? I don't see how you could be carrying handcuffs in that sexy little dress of yours."

Indeed, she was looking around rather desperately for something to bind him with. Then she grinned to herself and reached over to the bed with her free hand to grab the tacky garment she'd thrown there earlier. She pulled his other arm behind his back, while pressing down on his back hard enough that she could paralyze him if she wanted to, and tied his wrists quickly and efficiently with the string bikini.

When Jane realized what she was using, he couldn't help but laugh even harder.

"I suppose that's the best example of Karma I've heard of in a long time."

She helped him to sit up, but she wasn't prepared for how wonderful he looked, even in that position, or maybe _especially_ in that position. His hair was tousled and falling over his forehead in unruly curls, his bare chest and arms nicely defined and practically hairless, making her want to touch him all over again. Even worse, she could see clearly through the form-fitting cotton of his underwear that he was still just as excited as when she'd left him for the bathroom.

He caught her staring and grinned seductively. Despite his recent pain, he was obviously enjoying himself. "Now what? I'm assuming you don't know how to operate this thing, and it's sort of hard to drive a yacht with my hands behind my back."

"I'll call the Coast Guard."

"And what will you tell them? How will you explain my state of undress, not to mention the condoms and panties in your purse?"

She gasped. He'd gone through her things, the louse. She would never accuse an innocent man of attempted rape, and they both knew it. She knelt on the floor in frustration, putting her face in her hands.

"I hate you," she muttered.

"No, you don't. You just hate yourself is all." Her head snapped up to look at him.

"I don't blame you," he continued. "I'm hating myself quite a bit right now too. This will sound pretty lame, but you really are different from the other women I've known. I don't know why I expected to get anywhere with you using the same old methods."

"Well, that little confession didn't help your cause much," she told him.

"Come on, Teresa," he said persuasively. "Let me go so I can prove to you that I've really changed. Or, at least I'm starting to. You make me want to be a better man. I mean that sincerely."

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, closing her eyes against the onslaught of his intensely appealing gaze. She stood up and went for his discarded pants, feeling in the pockets for his keys. "I need some air to think."

Her plan was to lock him in this room and go up on deck to figure out her next move. She knew she couldn't hold him here, had no real reason to. He'd actually been nothing but kind and charming to her. She knew he would take her home without coercion, but her own anger had gotten the better of her, and it had felt so good to tie him up like a perp.

She walked by him, and was caught completely off guard when his hands—unbound now—reached out to grab her thighs, pushing her down on the soft carpet where she landed with a dull thud. Her tight dress and high heels had literally been her downfall, and she wriggled helplessly for a second like a turtle on its back. Unfortunately for her, that was just enough time for Jane to move on top of her, pinning her arms down on either side of her head.

She looked up at him, debating whether to follow through with her earlier threats, but the humor twinkling in his blue-green eyes stopped her and she lay still beneath his hard body, except for the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.

A/N: Yes! Evil cliffie! But I'm sure you can guess what happens next, lol. Thanks for reading. And hey, the next thing I write will likely be the tag for 5x01. Can you believe it's finally arrived? I can't wait. See you on the other side :).


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Welcome to chapter 7! Like most all romantic comedies, there is usually a touch of angst to balance out the romance. That's what this chapter is all about. Rated "M" here at the beginning, but I hope that doesn't scare you off because I do try to be tasteful. It's more suggestive than explicit, and I try to leave most of it to your imagination. But please don't skip the ending—look for an important plot development. Hope you like it!

**Chapter 7**

Jane had her right where he'd wanted her from the moment they'd met; on her back beneath him. Her dress had slid up high on her thighs, her breasts straining against the scooped neckline as her breathing increased. He wanted to groan aloud as his arousal pressed against her stomach, and at the way she was looking up at him, her eyes dazed with wonder at her surprising new position.

He repeated his earlier words in amusement. "So, Agent Lisbon. Now that you've got me, what do you plan to do with me?"

"You're a womanizing conman," she accused.

"And…?"

"And I ought to knee you in the groin."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't you rather test out the equipment first before incapacitating it? I mean, you must be curious. Hundreds of women couldn't be wrong."

"Hundreds?"  
"Maybe even thousands," he mocked.

She bent one knee threateningly. He grinned and readjusted himself out of harm's way.

"So if I slept with you, I'd become just one among thousands. How stupid would that make me?"

His face became serious. "It would be different with you," he said.

"How?"

He lowered his head until his mouth hovered right above hers. "Trust me," he whispered.

"But I…I don't," she said, her voice catching in her throat as he began kissing her at the corner of her lips.

"Let me convince you." He let loose of her arms and began nuzzling her neck. "If this starts feeling too…tawdry for you, I'll stop."

"You're just playing me," she said, as his hands lowered to her breasts, and he continued his assault on her neck. She trembled as he kissed his way upwards, tracing the shell of her ear with his tongue.

"I'm not playing," he said. "I'm totally and completely serious about this." He moved his thumbs over her nipples and she gasped. Her hands came up to caress his nape just as his mouth found hers at last.

His kiss was hungry and demanding, and it shot like lightning to her very core. He'd brought her to a frenzy with just his mouth and his fingers on her breasts, when abruputly, he sat up. She made a sharp noise of protest and he laughed as she tried to chase after his mouth.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured, and she caught the slight tremble in his voice.

_So, Mr. Cool and Confident wasn't as unaffected as he'd like me to think._

He moved so he could undo the straps of her shoes, kissing the tops of each small foot as he did so. She lay on the soft carpet, panting quietly and watching his every move. He was so graceful, so sensual, so unbearably handsome as he took her hands to pull her up to a sitting position.

"Turn around so I can reach that cursed zipper of yours."

She complied, heart pounding. His hand brushed aside her hair so he could reach the top of the fastening, but of course he had to pause to kiss her neck, and she nearly melted into the floor as his mouth opened and he touched her porcelain skin with the tip of his tongue. His loud breathing filled the cabin, competing soon with the sound of the zipper sliding down to her waist.

"How did you get this thing on by yourself?" he asked curiously.

"Women are very resourceful," she replied in what she hoped sounded more mysterious than breathless.

She helped him by moving her arms so he could slide her dress over her shoulders, and then he was undoing her black bra. Jane stared at her back, a toned feast for the eyes, and then for his mouth as he tasted the sinuous curves and planes. She found herself laying on her stomach as he pulled her dress over her gently curved hips and then all the way down her legs.

His hands went to her waist, bringing her up on all fours as he slid her panties off. He caressed the rounded sweetness of her buttocks almost reverently, and Lisbon stared sightlessly down at the plush brown carpet, waiting in keen anticipation for what he would do next.

She was both surprised and gratified when his hand slipped between her legs, finding her with his fingers, massaging her gently from behind. She let out a plaintive moan when she felt first one, then two of his long fingers inside of her. He leaned forward onto her body, his other hand going around her to circle and rub once more. His chest felt so good against her skin, and she felt his hot breath on her back as he played her body like a maestro, heightening her pleasure with wet kisses along her spine. Mere moments later, she cried out and fell trembling to the floor, bright colored stars blurring her vision.

He collapsed on top of her, his body stretched completely on her back. She enjoyed his weight pressing her into the floor, reveled in the way his hands smoothed over her arms, his strong chest a heady contrast to her delicate back. She hadn't fully recovered from her release yet when he rolled her over and kissed her mouth, then moved lower to show remiss attention to her breasts.

"Unless you want some serious carpet burn," he murmured, "let's move this party to the bed."

Lisbon smiled against his lips and nodded. He could ask her anything at this moment, and she would gladly comply. He kneeled beside her, surprising her again when he lifted her limp body and laid her gently on the bed. Suddenly, Jane was through with being gentle. He hastily removed his briefs before he joined her on the chocolate suede coverlet, and promptly began kissing her in a passionate frenzy. Lisbon felt her body reacting once more to his ardent explorations. She had recovered enough to meet him kiss for kiss, and his hardness pressed eagerly into her thigh. He rolled with her to the side of the bed so he could reach the drawer of the bedside table, removing a small foil packet and fumbling almost frantically to open it.

She chuckled and took it from his trembling fingers, turning him to his back. "Here, let me do the honors."

Jane watched her remove the condom, a flirtatious, sexy expression on her face. He had never felt this nervous, this hyped up before with a woman. He wanted everything to be perfect with her, _for_ her, and it wasn't enough that she'd already found her pleasure; he wanted to give her more. With other women, it had been a challenge, a duty even, and he'd gotten some satisfaction from theirs, but with Teresa, he didn't think he'd be truly satisfied until she'd become completely and totally sated. But of course, this desire was in direct competition with his own needs, and when she moved her hand up and down his length a few times, he thought he might cry from the heaven of her touch. The moment she slipped on the condom, he encircled her waist and pulled her atop his body, entering her completely in one swift stroke. She gasped in pure pleasure, and he held her still a moment so he could try to muster some control, else this would be over as quickly as it had begun.

Jane had to use every trick in his biofeedback arsenal to calm himself, to try to focus on her enjoyment, but he felt dizzy with want, almost fearful of his own involuntary reactions. Lisbon, however, was quickly losing patience, and began to move her hips, completely quashing his good intentions. She leaned forward, placing her tiny hands on his chest, building the momentum until he gave up the struggle and just let himself go.

She lay on top of his spent form, her arms wrapped around his damp, heaving chest, listening to his pounding heartbeat beneath her cheek. For the first time in his life, Jane's mind had gone totally blank. He lay there like a dead man while his pulse pounded in his ears and he became a creature of pure feeling. Later, he would remember this as the most fulfilled moment of his life, but also the most terrifying.

That was why he had run.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon awoke to the light tapping on the stateroom door. She reached out a sleepy hand to feel only a cold, empty place beside her. She sat up.

"Who is it?"

"Your breakfast, ma'am. I'll just leave it here by the door for when you're ready."

That wasn't Jane's voice. She peeped out the small round porthole above the bed to see that they were docked again at the harbor, and a glance at the bedside clock told her it was after ten o'clock. She lay back on the bed, every part of her body aching, yet totally sated. Jane must have gotten up early and driven them back to land, where the crewmen had been waiting to prepare breakfast. She could hear feet moving on the deck above the ceiling and she grinned, wondering how he had the strength to do anything after the night they'd spent.

She'd lost track of the number of times he'd brought her to ecstasy, the number of ways he'd found to make love to her. Sometime in the night they'd gone up to the galley to find a snack, and they'd dined on fruit and champagne. Even Jane had had a glass, which had just fueled his ardor even more. She could now add making love in a captain's chair to her once short list of unusual places to have had sex. She'd worn the white sea captain's hat he'd placed on her head the rest of the night, and there it was still, on the bedside table. She grinned and blushed at the memory.

Naked, she rose gingerly from the bed and limped stiffly to the bathroom, noting from the wet towel that he'd showered already. She'd been so dead to the world from sexual exhaustion that she hadn't even heard him get up, let alone felt the boat moving. She found her dress and underwear folded neatly over a chair alongside her purse. The red lollipop was missing from her purse now, and she flushed again when she remembered the unusual ways he'd employed that little gem. She could still taste the cherry candy on her lips.

Lisbon wrapped herself in a sheet to open the door, thrilled to smell fresh, rich coffee, bacon, eggs, and a chocolate croissant. She picked up the silver tray and brought it to the bed. She was disappointed that it was only enough for one-Jane must have tired of waiting and eaten without her-but she happily dug into the delicious meal, and especially the gourmet coffee. Beneath her saucer, she found a folded slip of paper. She opened it idly, holding the cup to her lips.

_My Dear Teresa,_

_Thank you for a wonderful evening. You are one in a __million__. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime…_

She couldn't finish reading the note, and the coffee now tasted like mud in her mouth.

He'd left her. After everything they'd done the night before, he had left her. She had entrusted him with her body as well as her heart, and still, he'd left her. She stared at the note, forcing herself to keep reading.

…_I'm sure Mark and Benny can see to your every need, and a car is ready to take you back to Sacramento whenever you choose. Feel free to enjoy the yacht as long as you like._

_P. Jane_

She crumbled the note in her hand, then placed her cup gently back on the saucer. Her eyes roamed the room almost absently, alighting on the half-eaten lollipop lying on its plastic wrapper near the abandoned hat. Her earlier thoughts about his gift came back to her, and with a sudden sob, she realized her interpretation of its meaning had been painfully correct.

She had been used and discarded: a sucker in the truest sense of the word.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

She went into work on the Tuesday after the holiday weekend, cried out and determined to get on with her life without Jane. She'd told her team that Jane had gone back to his former job and they hadn't even questioned it. They had all seen his leaving as a foregone conclusion, hadn't they? On the surface, Minelli had shown the most obvious disappointment, lamenting that Jane had only just begun to make his mark there.

Lisbon had said something snide in reply about how Patrick Jane would find plenty of marks to make elsewhere. Minelli had raised a curious eyebrow at her bitterness, but thankfully asked her no questions.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

_**Three months later…**_

Jane sat in his Monterrey Casino dressing room backstage after his show, alone. He'd abandoned the practice of inviting groupies and potential clients to private consultations. Women no longer held any interest to him, which wasn't surprising, given that he seemed to have no more passion for anything in his life anymore. He'd put his house in Malibu up for sale—he rarely stayed more than a night or two there anyway, and the ghosts of his wife and daughter seemed to be haunting him even more lately, despite his feeble attempts at pushing them out of his mind. He'd wrecked his Porsche running a red light, but he'd welcomed the stiffness of the whiplash and the hit to his insurance as a sign that at least he could feel something these days.

He'd gone into his garage, bypassing the BMW and the vintage Alfa Romeo to remove the cover of the very first car he'd bought with his own money at age eighteen. The eggshell blue Citroen was still in perfect condition. It had been old when he'd bought it, but he had lovingly restored it himself. His assistant had kept it polished and tuned, taking it out for a drive once a month as instructed, so that when Jane sat on the familiar leather seat, it turned over easily, purring like a welcoming kitten.

He'd been in talks with an LA television station to begin his new show in the fall, and the idea, like most all others, no longer excited him. What good would fortune and fame be when all he had was an empty house and an empty life outside the TV studio? Of course, it was all Teresa Lisbon's fault. She'd ruined him for anyone else. Whenever he'd looked into the eyes of other women now, he found himself disappointed that he wasn't staring into large, moss green irises. Every time he even thought of other women now, he became unaccountably angry with the little spitfire he'd left on that yacht in San Francisco.

Once he'd gotten her in bed, that should have been the end of it. She should have been out of his system immediately, not still hanging on months later, eating away at his soul like some debilitating virus. When his check from his two week's work with the CBI had arrived in his mailbox, he'd laughed at the pittance, then sighed because he'd realized that there could have been no proper reward for finding little Megan, except perhaps that first kiss from Teresa.

Yes, he'd been a coward, had run scared from anything that caused him to feel out of control of his emotions. He'd run away from the carney circuit and his domineering father the day after he'd turned eighteen, marrying too young and struggling for the first several years of their marriage to earn a living as a spiritual advisor. He stayed away from his house now because of the memories of his lost family. He'd tried to bury the pain of losing his wife by burying himself inside any woman who'd caught his eye. And three months and three days ago, he'd run away from the first woman who'd actually made him think, made him feel, made him lose control of his body and very nearly his mind.

Yes, he was a loner and a coward and a runner. And he was almost as miserable as the days after Angela and Charlotte had died.

He looked into the mirror of his dressing room table, disregarding the dark circles and the more unruly hairstyle he'd been sporting of late.

"Damn you, Teresa Lisbon. Damn you and your big green eyes and your short black dress and your sassy mouth and your stupid, altruistic job."

But his words meant nothing, because by staying away from her, he knew he was damning himself most of all.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Only when Jane was sure the casino amphitheater was completely empty, did he leave through the back exit. He walked down the narrow alley toward his Citroen, fishing in his pocket for the keys. It wasn't that late, but he'd had no desire to linger at the poker tables or prowl for women in the lounge. He'd chosen a hotel closer to the beach, away from the noise and smoke of the casino. Perhaps he'd watch Animal Planet for awhile, make some tea and try to sleep for a change.

But Jane knew well the results of the best laid plans, especially when someone jumped him from behind and knocked his body to the pavement. He tried to get up, but the unknown assailant kicked him hard in the side and he collapsed again, rolling into a ball and covering his head instinctively. The kicks continued for what seemed like forever, but actually amounted to a matter of seconds.

"That'll teach you to put your nose where it doesn't belong," said the threatening voice.

Then he was left alone, bloody and in pain on the wet pavement of the foul smelling alley.

He groaned, then summoned the strength to reach into his pocket for his cell phone. He hit the first speed dial key—a number he'd programmed in three months before but had never removed. It hadn't even occurred to him to call 911.

As he awaited the call to go through, his thoughts veered to a conversation he'd had with Lisbon.

"_Thanks for taking a chance on me," he'd said._

"_Don't make me regret it."_

He hoped with all his heart that she could find it within herself to forgive him, and give him one more chance.

"Lisbon…" he said, but he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs to speak above a hoarse whisper.

And then it didn't matter anymore, as his world suddenly faded black.

A/N: Next chapter skips decidedly back into the comedy side of romantic comedy. Thanks for reading—and I'd love a review, if you think it merits one.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Well, my Twitter friends encouraged me to expand the case into Jane's attacker, so blame them if this story seems to meander a little while longer :). The reviews/favorites/follows are all very flattering, especially those who have gone back to read some of my old fics. Thank you!

Now, on to…

**Chapter 8**

Lisbon's cell phone rang just as she was leaving the office. Another Friday with no plans but the laundry and moo-shoo chicken, and she almost hoped it would be a new case to give her something more exciting to look forward to. But no, it was only…_Patrick Jane_? She looked at the caller ID and her heart leapt. She let it ring a couple of times, her mind racing, trying to decide whether she should answer. She'd stopped herself several times from calling him over the last three months, if only to give the scoundrel a piece of her mind. But now she realized that Jane was right; if he was going to break her heart, better to have done it quickly and early rather than letting her get more invested in the bastard and make the inevitable dumping a hundred times worse.

So she supposed she should be grateful, right? She looked at the phone as it continued to ring. He was certainly persistent. One more ring and it would go to her voicemail. Against all her better judgment, she picked up the phone.

"What the hell do you want, Jane?" she said by way of greeting.

All she could hear was some heavy breathing and the distant sound of traffic.

"Jane?"

Great. He'd accidentally dialed her. Given the sounds he was making, she wouldn't put it past him to be in the throes of…whatever.

"Hang up the phone, Jane. I don't know what—or who—you're into right now, but I'm no longer interested in being a part of your sex life."

Then she heard it-a weak call of her name: "Lisbon…"

She froze. Her job had made her highly attuned to interpreting sounds of distress, and something about the way he said her name, combined with the ragged breathing that continued in her ear, had her heart pounding for an entirely different reason. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

"Jane!" she called again.

He didn't reply, and she heard what sounded like the clatter of his phone being dropped to…pavement? And then the line went dead. She called him back but it went to voice mail. She hesitated. Was she overreacting? Was this all just a mistake? But no, he'd said her name and he seemed in great distress or…pain.

_Dammit, Jane. Why have you suddenly decided to pull me back into your web?_

But Lisbon was an officer of the law, and she'd learned never to ignore her instincts, plus she'd taken an oath. If someone needed help—even if it was a lying, asshole conman-well she was morally obligated to help him. She called Van Pelt, hoping she hadn't gotten all the way home yet. She needed her help to try to trace Jane's cell phone.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It wasn't twenty minutes later when Lisbon received a call from Jane again. Van Pelt had just arrived back at HQ and Lisbon was in the midst of filling her in when the fake psychic's call came through again.

"Jane?" she answered after the first ring.

"Uh, no ma'am. This is Monterrey Bay Police Department. You were the last call dialed on Mr. Jane's cell phone. What is your relationship to Mr. Jane?"

"I'm uh—" How the hell did she answer _that_ question. "I'm a former…colleague. I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon with the CBI. What's happened to Jane?"

"Oh. Well, that's weird. The casino here says Mr. Jane does a psychic show. They made no mention of the CBI."

"He sometimes consults with law enforcement," she said impatiently. "Where's Jane, Officer-?"

"Krenshaw, ma'am. Hmmm. You guys use psychics, do ya?" He sounded faintly disapproving. "Well, I hate to have to tell you this, but Mr. Jane was severely beaten in the parking lot of the Monterrey Casino. A worker found him in the alley when he was taking out the trash. Jane's en route to the local hospital with what could be some internal injuries. Someone kicked the hell out of him, Agent Lisbon. Any idea who might have had it in for him?"

Lisbon shook her head to herself. She imagined there was a long line of possibilities who'd want to do him bodily harm, including herself.

"It could have been anyone. He offends a lot of people. A jealous husband maybe? Disgruntled client? A woman scorned?"  
"Ladies man, eh?"

Lisbon chafed at the characterization, given her own roll in that capacity.

"So it would seem."

"You know of any next of kin? They might need someone at the hospital to do some paperwork, make some decisions for his care, maybe."

Lisbon remembered seeing his employment forms when she'd reported his billable hours to Payroll.

"He didn't list any emergency contacts on his records here." She sighed. "Please let the hospital know I'll be there in a few hours. What hospital was that?"

"St. Vincent's."

"Great. Thanks, Officer Krenshaw."

"No, problem, Agent. Have a good night."

She hung up and looked at Van Pelt. "Did you get that?"

"Jane's hurt? What happened?"

Lisbon explained and Van Pelt blanched in horror. "You want me to come with you? Poor man. No family to call?"

"Not that I know of. No, go on home. No sense both our weekends being ruined."

"If you're sure, Boss."

"No, I got this. I was the last person he called; I feel like I should at least make sure he's all right."

Van Pelt didn't hide her sympathetic look. Everyone on the team suspected there'd been something between her and the former consultant, and that it hadn't ended well. "Okay, but call me if you need anything."

"Thanks, Grace. And I appreciate your coming back in to help."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon packed a bag for a few nights away and drove her Mustang the three and a half hours to Monterrey. The entire trip, she kept reliving every moment of her time with Jane, both professional and personal. She kept dwelling on the personal, however, on the passionate night they'd spent and the cold way he'd left her. How could he have done that to her? The most logical answer she kept coming to was that she hadn't measured up to his expectations and he had gotten out while he could. But there was another answer, a reason behind his abrupt departure that had occurred to her over the last three months, but she'd pushed it aside until now. Until he'd decided to call her, that is.

Perhaps their night together had _exceeded_ his expectations. Maybe he'd been frightened by the actual real emotions he had experienced in her arms. She knew it had been that way for her. She'd never felt so connected to anyone before, either in bed or out. A vision flashed in her mind of his eyes meeting hers as their bodies had joined together. It was difficult to fake emotion at a time like that, and the way he'd looked at her—so tenderly, so seemingly enraptured—she had believed him. The fact that he'd made love to her all night was even more evidence of this. And it hadn't felt like it had been just sex, either. He had been so attentive to her needs, so affectionate. There had been laughter and cuddling and pillow talk-all the things any woman would want from a new lover.

But when he'd left her the next morning, all of these beliefs she'd had about that night had been unceremoniously thrown away and she'd immediately latched on to the idea that he hadn't thought her worth any more of his time. She hadn't liked feeling sorry for herself, so she'd reverted to anger and suppression of her original gut feelings. No matter whether he had been frightened or disappointed, he had left her like he likely had all the other women he'd slept with, and she was still majorly pissed off at him for that. But he had called her when he was most in need, and that had changed her perspective once more. He could have called 911. Why would he still even have her number?

She would come to his aid, but she didn't have to like it. Didn't have to like _him_ either.

At least, that's what she told herself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Her CBI badge was more than enough to gain access to Jane's room, even though it was past visiting hours and she wasn't a relative. She walked into the private hospital room to see his blond curls resting on the pillow, his face nearly as pale as the stark white sheets. She stood looking with a detective's eye on the face she had found herself missing more and more as each empty week had passed. There was a bandage on his temple, and a few on his hands. Defensive wounds, she thought. Already, the unbandaged areas of his arms were black and blue. He didn't look as bad as she'd feared, but the officer had said he might have had internal injuries.

She thought he was asleep, but suddenly his eyes opened, and she was caught once more in their vaguely hypnotic gaze.

He smiled sleepily. "Teresa. You came."

"Only because Monterrey PD called me," she said stiffly.

"You're mad at me. I guess that's my fault."

She'd vowed she wasn't going to get into this with him, not so quickly anyway. But as usual, the man seemed to strip away all her common sense.

"Gee, you think?" she said, her words clipped with anger.

His grin turned sheepish. "Sorry I didn't call sooner—"

She held up a hand."Shut up, Jane. Just shut up. I'm here to see if you are all right, and to see if I can help the local police figure out who might have done this to you, nothing more. Let's just leave everything else in the past, okay?"

"All business now, eh? That's not quite how we left things."

"_We_? As I recall you were the one doing the—no! I'm not doing this. What do you remember about your attacker?"

"Well, as I told Officer Krenshaw when I came to, I was walking to my car through the alley behind the casino and someone jumped me. I guess it wasn't a mugging because I still have my wallet, phone, and car keys."

"Did you get a look at the guy?"

"No. But he smelled of expensive cologne and new leather. And I'm pretty sure he was wearing steel-toed boots." He cringed for emphasis.

"Did he say anything?"

"Yeah. He said, and I quote: _That'll teach you to put your nose where it doesn't belong."_

She raised an eyebrow.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "It doesn't sound like a jealous lover to me either."

She had to smirk. "Yeah, I'm sure you've been down that particular road before."

He smiled in self-deprecation, shrugged, then grimaced at the movement. There was no arguing with that. Lisbon felt a perverse satisfaction at his pain.

"I'm thinking it must have something to do with one of the cases I've worked on with the CBI."

"Well, I'll get the team on it, maybe get a cop to guard your door."

"Meh, don't go to the trouble. If they'd wanted to shut me up permanently, they'd have killed me." He watched her expression in amusement. "Disappointed?"

"Yeah. Maybe."

Jane's eyes twinkled at her. "It would have saved you the trouble, right?"

She was trying to stay mad at him, but his charm was his greatest weapon, and she bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. She steered the conversation quickly back to a less dangerous topic.

"So, what kind of damage are we talking here? Did they have to do surgery?"

"Nah. A few broken ribs, some bruising. You'll be pleased to know it hurts like hell. I'm wrapped up like a mummy under here. You want to see?" He began to lift the sheet, and she had wondered at his lack of a hospital gown. The thought of him naked beneath the covers did crazy things to her stomach.

"No, I believe you. You should just stay still and try to rest. I'm going back to the scene of the crime and see if there's anything the cops might have missed." And because she was such a compassionate person, she asked: "Can I get you anything?"

Jane eyed her a moment, noting the flush on her cheeks. She'd missed him too, he realized, though she was also incredibly furious with him. For the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely apologetic.

"My suitcase is in my car. I assume it's still at the casino. While you're there, if you wouldn't mind…?"

"No, that's why I asked."

"Thanks. I think they put my keys and things in the bedside drawer." He nodded toward the small metal nightstand. She would have to walk much closer to him to retrieve them, and Jane found himself anxious for her nearness. She was wearing her usual uniform of a tasteful pantsuit, this time gray with a black ruffled blouse beneath. Her golden crucifix rested in the shadowed _V _above her breasts, and as she moved tentatively closer, he caught a whiff of her scent. He could have sworn she smelled of sun-warmed peaches, but it was probably just an effect of the pain meds.

She opened the drawer and found his key ring, which contained exactly three keys—one to his car, one to his house, one to his post office box in Malibu. She held up the leather fob. She'd expected a key with the usual Porsche emblem, but in its place was a rather large, unfamiliar black key.

"Not driving the Porsche?" she asked, curious in spite of herself. She had a few nice memories of that car, despite his reckless driving.

"I wrecked it. And yes, I was speeding through a red light, so there's no need to resume your past commentary on my driving."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's this to, then? The key's so big, it looks like it must wind something up."

"Very amusing, Agent Lisbon. You'll find it fits the lock of a 1972 Citroen DS 20. Eggshell blue."

"That's quite a step down," she commented.

"Hey, that car's a classic. Besides," he said softly. "I've been making a few changes lately."

"Really?" she said, trying to sound neutral.

_Go Teresa_, she told herself. _Just leave right now. You don't care about his personal life anymore._

But her traitorous body stayed where it was, right within arm's reach of this self-centered, womanizing jerk.

He reached out for her with one fingertip, touching the soft back of the hand that held his keys.

"Teresa, I'm sorry for hurting you. I can see that I did, so don't try to deny it. I've never been any good at relationships. Well, except for one, and I've accepted there's no hope of ever finding someone like that again."

Lisbon's face had softened at his sincerity, but hardened again at his last statement. _No hope._ _Well, that about summed it up, didn't it?_

"I accept your apology, so you don't have to feel any of that awkward, unfamiliar guilt anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go try to find out who beat me to the punch and put you in the hospital."

She moved to leave, but he grabbed her hand. She looked down at where they touched, then back to his eyes, blue-green and earnest.

"That didn't come out quite the way I'd intended."

"Why? You were being honest, for once. Don't sweat it, Jane. I haven't been sitting by the phone crying for the last three months, so any belated worry you might have for me is totally misplaced. You were but a blip on my radar, a fly in my chardonnay. You, Mr. Jane, are so last summer. Now let me go so I can do my job and we can quit meeting like this."

She pulled away from his grip, feeling a flash of guilt herself when he grimaced in pain from the strain on his injured hand. She no longer felt satisfaction from it, just a dull emptiness.

"Go to sleep, Jane. I'll be back later with your stuff."

"Lisbon—"

But she ignored his call and practically fled the room, her high-heeled boots clicking down the corridor.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

"There," said Lisbon to the security officer inside the Monterrey Casino. "That's him."

They were looking at the soundless surveillance video taken in the alley earlier that night. She watched as Jane exited the building, walking toward the parking lot just as he'd said. Suddenly, from behind a large metal trash bin, stepped a man in a leather trench coat, tailored slacks, and cowboy boots. His hair was dark and he never faced the camera. He attacked Jane, throwing him to the ground before proceeding to kick the crap out of him. Lisbon had to look away as the kicks became particularly vicious, especially the one about the head.

"Mother of God," she muttered.

The man bent over Jane as if to tell him something, then, with one last kick, he lifted his leather collar higher around his neck and kept walking toward the parking lot and out of view of the camera. Other parking lot cameras captured no other glimpse of the man. It was like he'd disappeared. Back in the alley, she saw Jane reach into his trouser pocket for his phone, press two buttons, then pass out.

"That's all we've got, ma'am," said the security man. "The police have already viewed this footage and they didn't pick out anything different than what you've seen."  
"How about interior shots? Maybe this guy had been in the casino earlier, or afterwards."

"The police took those for closer analysis, but we looked through them and initially found nothing."

Lisbon sighed. "Well, thank you for your time." She gave him her card. "Please call me if you can think of anything else."

The man nodded and Lisbon left the small room and its bank of security monitors.

She decided to retrace Jane's steps from that evening, going first to the theatre where he'd had his show, then backstage and to his dressing room. The local police had long gone, and she pushed open the door marked _Private._

She had learned Jane had another show scheduled for the next night, so he had left some of his things there. There was a sterling comb and brush set, with a few familiar golden hairs embedded in the brush, along with a few stage cosmetics—powder and concealer. Not that he really needed those things, she mused. He was already perfect without them.

_Shut up, Teresa. You're thinking like a groupie._

He'd hung up a suit, tie and shirt on the garment rack, the labels all proclaiming Georgio Armani had made them. She imagined him sitting at the mirrored vanity, powdering his nose, straightening his tie. She fingered the silver silk.

There seemed to be no clue here as to who might have done this to him. As she was leaving though, she caught a whiff of fresh flowers and looked around, trying to locate the scent. Behind the folding changing screen was a small table and a vase that held two dozen red roses. There was a card with them, and Lisbon took it from its holder and read:

_Thank you for the good advice, Patrick._

_I will tell him today._

_Sadie Brooks_

_P.S. Break a leg!_

Lisbon reread the card a few times, then, acting on instinct, pocketed it and left the dressing room. Out in the alley, she pulled out the flashlight she'd brought, shining it on the bloodstained area of the pavement. She looked up and down the narrow lane, then found the place where Jane's attacker had hidden. She was hoping to find cigarette butts or some other evidence, but aside from the malodorous trash bin, there was nothing.

"Dammit," she said aloud. With a frustrated shake of her head, she walked on to the parking lot to find Jane's car.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at the hospital, Lisbon entered Jane's room once more to find him wide awake, watching some animal documentary on the wall-mounted television. He smiled as she entered with his small suitcase, which she set on a nearby chair.

"Thank you," he told her with a smile.

She nodded, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the card from the flowers.

"What can you tell me about this?" she asked.

He flipped off the TV with the remote control and took the card from her hand. Their fingertips touched, and both of them tried to ignore the jolt that slammed into them.

"Aww," he said nostalgically. "Sadie."

"What advice did you give her?" She hoped she'd successfully masked her twinge of jealousy.

"We had a private session when I arrived in Monterrey this morning. She asked me some investment advice, to tell her if the market would pay off for her. I predicted…yes…"

Lisbon smirked. "So you're also an investment analyst."

He grinned. "Of sorts." His voice took on the spiritual tone he used during his act. "I look into the alignment of the stars, open the door to the future and peer inside…"

"And make a good guess," she concluded.  
"Yep, pretty much. Oh, I read the stock reports too, and have a friend who is a real analyst. But yeah, I just give them an educated guess."

"Which they could have arrived at for free using the internet."

"I'm not forcing them to pay me, Teresa."

"Whatever. Anyway, what exactly did you tell her? And who is this man she was going to tell the good news?"

"I told her to invest her inheritance on an up and coming internet site, called Facebook."

She raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that kind of like MySpace?"

"Yeah, but the potential for this new one is amazing."

"Sort of a risky investment, wouldn't you say?"

"It's not my money. But anyway, she was going to tell her husband this afternoon, after the fact. She was afraid to tell him, but then, it was her money."

"That sounds like motive to beat the hell out of you."

"Maybe."

"I think I'll go pay her a visit. You have her address, or do I need to run her name through the local PD?"  
"Yes, but I don't want you going there alone," he told her seriously.

"Jane, I'm a CBI agent; I can take care of myself. Tell me the address." He complied reluctantly, and she plugged the information into her cell phone.

"Well, call some other cops for back up," he cautioned. "Isn't that what they always say in the movies?"

"Your concern is touching, but I'll be fine."

"Would you mind helping me up so I can use the bathroom?" he asked suddenly.

"I can get a nurse," she hedged, remembering what state he might be in beneath the covers.

Jane grinned. "I'm not naked under here. I was just kidding earlier. Please, don't bother the nurses. The one assigned to my room is really mean, and totally immune to my charms."

"I can't imagine that."

"Please?" and out came the puppy dog eyes.

She sighed in defeat. "Fine." She tentatively approached the bed, standing nearby as he pulled back the sheet and thin blanket. He gave a pain-filled grunt as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Lisbon could see now how his lower torso was wrapped tightly and that he was in fact wearing underwear. She blushed and looked away, avoiding his wicked smile. When his feet hit the floor, she stepped forward so he could wrap a bandaged arm around her waist. She stiffened at his touch, but allowed him to lean on her as they walked haltingly to the bathroom.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly as he held onto the doorframe for support.

"You're welcome."

"I'll just wait out here to help you back if you need it."

"I might be a while," he told her, trying to infuse as much embarrassment into his reply as he could muster. "But would you mind going to the lobby and getting me some tea out of the dispenser? Then I'd appreciate it if you could find some milk from somewhere."

She looked at him a moment, trying not to be surprised at his nerve. "I'm trying to conduct an investigation here, Jane. I really don't have time to play nursemaid to you, especially when you have a hospital just full of them."

"Please? You've seen me make tea. You know how I like it. Come on. It'll help me sleep…"

"Oh, all right. But it's already late, and I want to talk to this Sadie person as quickly as possible. I'll be back in a minute."

When she left, Jane sprang into action. Sure, he was in pain, but he'd hammed it up considerably, partly to feel her body close to his again, but mostly to steal her Mustang keys from her pocket. He went to his suitcase, pulling out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a heather grey hooded sweatshirt. Bending to put on his sneakers was much more difficult than he would have liked, and by the time he stood up, perspiration was dripping from his temples. He wiped his face with a towel, then grabbed a notebook and pen from his bag.

She'd be pissed off when she found out his real motives, but by then, there would be nothing she could do about it. He smiled at the thought of her angry expression to come, then dashed off a quick note.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon arrived back at Jane's room once more, having given up the wild goose chase in search of milk this late at night in a hospital, when all foodservices were closed down. His Highness would just have to settle for powdered creamer or drink it black.

The bathroom door was still closed, and this time she heard the sound of the shower running. He'd left a note for her on his bed.

_Teresa,_

_I'll get the nurse to help me after my shower, unless you want to stay for the show. I'll see you tomorrow, I hope._

_P. Jane_

She shook her head, set down the Styrofoam cup of tea by his bed, and left, partly disappointed that she hadn't gotten to say goodbye, and hating herself for even having such a thought. Also, the thought of him nude in the shower was too much of a temptation in itself, so she picked up the pace to the elevator, anxious to have something else to focus on, like an assault suspect.

As she walked out into the chilly coastal evening, she automatically fished into her pocket for her keys. She couldn't find them anywhere. With an annoyed sigh, she wondered if she'd left them in the car in her hurry to see Jane. A few steps away, she saw that someone was sitting in the passenger side of her Mustang. Her Spice Girls CD was blasting from her speakers, making the car fairly vibrate.

She reached inside her jacket for her Gloch, which was securely resting in her shoulder holster. She stopped by the window and saw a familiar mop of curls in the dim light of a security lamp and the lighted dashboard of her car.

She banged on the window with her gun, satisfied to see him jump. Seeing it was her, he grinned and rolled down the window.

"Hey, Lisbon, what took you so long?" he yelled over the stereo.

"You bastard. You lifted my keys, didn't you?"

"How else is one to deal with an extremely stubborn woman?"

"What the hell are you doing in my car?" she sputtered angrily. Jane merely smiled in appreciation of her flashing eyes and set jaw.

"I'm here for backup, of course. Now get in, Agent Lisbon. Time's awasting."

A/N: I hope you like this turn of events. I'm so excited for the show tonight! I'm sure to be expired to right a tag. Hope to see you back for that. Thanks for reading, and for your kindness should you review.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry I didn't have a chapter earlier in the week, but I've been very busy. My friends on Twitter requested I focus more on the mystery surrounding Jane's assault, so this chapter hopefully does that. Don't blame me if it veers off into silliness. It wasn't in my original plan for this fic after all...

**Chapter 9**

Lisbon went around the car and threw open the driver's side door, sat down and flipped off the blasting stereo. She angrily turned to Jane.

"Dammit, Jane! You should be in bed. And what good are you going to do me if Sadie's husband is there and he sees you? He just might decide to finish the job."

She was surprised to see he clearly hadn't thought of that. "I just don't want you to go it alone." His simple expression of concern rather knocked the wind from her sails.

"I won't be alone, Jane." She patted her blazer confidently beneath her arm where her re-holstered weapon now rested.

"You are one hell of a woman," he said with a grin.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, "Then why the hell did you leave me," but she bit her tongue, mainly because she wasn't ready to hear his answer.

"Get out of the car, Jane. Go back to your room and get into bed where you belong. I'll call or come by later."

"Not happening. Until you rule out Sadie's husband, you're stuck with me."

She sighed tiredly. "You know, I could arrest your ass for stealing my keys and breaking into my car."

"But you won't. Now let's go. I actually gave you the wrong address, so now you've got to take me with you."

"They have this cool thing called 411, Jane. And I have access to every personal database known to man."

"Well, unless you plan to shoot me physically remove an injured man from your car, I'm coming along for the ride."

She stared at him in intense irritation, and Jane knew the moment she relented. She shook her head and turned over the engine.

"You're incorrigible."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Of course you would. Now what's the real address?"

He repeated the same one he'd given her earlier, and it took all her willpower not to punch him in the nose.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This late at night, Lisbon expected she'd be facing a sleeping house. Imagine her surprise when she pulled up in front of the Brooks home to find that there was in fact a party going on inside. A loud party.

She looked at Jane. "You sure this is the right house?"

"Yep. I've been here a couple times. It would seem there's some sort of a celebration going on."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. You wait here," she told him.

"Not on your life."

"Jane—"

"Look, there's a house full of witnesses. Unlikely he'd try something now."

She looked at the house in question, so overrun with cars in front that she'd had to park down the street. Then she glanced at the man beside her. Of course, if she left him, he'd just follow her inside anyway.

"All right. Come on. But stay close to me."

"My pleasure."

She shot him a dirty look and they both got out of the car. It was slow-going for Jane, but she was no longer feeling much sympathy. She was halfway to the house when she looked back to see him moving gingerly in her direction.

"If you can't keep up, you may as well wait in the car."

"You're a cold, cold woman," he said, only halfway kidding.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," she mumbled to herself. She went on ahead until she crossed the driveway and found her way to the door. She pounded as hard as she could, but the music was so loud she doubted anyone could hear her. She was about to knock again, when a drunken couple emerged from the house, nearly running over Lisbon in their stumbling haste to get out.

"Oopsie!" said the woman, a well-endowed bleached blond with a some sort of animal claws tattooed above her breasts. Her escort didn't seem quite as intoxicated, and was helping her stay on her feet.

"I hope you two aren't driving," said Lisbon, flashing her badge.

"Oh, no, osficer," slurred the woman. "We're just gonna use the backseat." They both tittered with laughter.

Lisbon rolled her eyes, stepping aside so they could trip down the three steps. By that time, Jane had caught up with her, and somehow couldn't avoid bumping into the man. Jane yelped in pain, mouthing profanities while the couple swerved obliviously toward the street where their car was likely parked. Jane tossed the keys he'd lifted from the man into the bushes with a satisfied smile.

"They won't be driving drunk tonight," he explained. Lisbon nodded, wishing she'd done it herself. Her respect for Jane reluctantly adjusted upwards a notch.

The door remained open, and Jane and Lisbon were inundated with loud country music, talking, and laughter. They walked inside into the crush of people, all carrying red plastic cups filled from the keg in the kitchen.

"You see Sadie?" she yelled near Jane's ear.

He was already looking around, and then he spotted her, milling among her guests out on the back patio. "This way," he yelled back. She found her hand wrapped within his in a vice grip as he pulled her through the crowd. Outside, Jane came up to the woman Lisbon assumed was Sadie and tapped her on the shoulder. Her blonde on brown highlighted hair was fashioned into a modern bouffant, and she wore cut-off shorts, an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and Ugg boots. Her heavily mascaraed eyes turned round at the sight of Jane.

"Oh my God! Patrick! How'd you find out about the party?"  
"I didn't know about it until five minutes ago," he said. "Is there someplace quiet we can talk?"

"Yeah, sure. But don't you want to hear my good news? That stock you advised me to invest in doubled today! I'm rich, Patrick! I'm rich!" The people around her raised their cups and whooped excitedly.

"That's great. Some place quiet please? Teresa and I are here on some urgent business."

"Teresa?" It was then that Sadie noticed the petite woman near his side. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Who's she? And what the hell happened to you?" In her slightly inebriated state, she hadn't immediately noticed the bandages on his forehead and what she could see of his hands outside the long-sleeved sweatshirt.

"That's what we need to talk about."

"Oh, okay. Follow me."

It took another five minutes to get past all the revelers and to the main hallway, but she finally led them to what they assumed was the master bedroom, whereupon she shut the door behind them.

"What's this about, Patrick? What business could you have with me tonight? Unless…" She sidled up to him, allowing him a glimpse of cleavage and one bare shoulder. Too bad the effect was spoiled by the heady stench of whiskey on her breath. He winced and took a step back.

"Tell me, Sadie, what was your husband's reaction when you told him you'd invested all of your inheritance?"

"Oh, man, was he pissed! I thought he was gonna have a coronary."

Jane caught Lisbon's eye. "Did you tell him where you got the idea?"

"Yes, but then, a few hours later, when I showed him the stock report, he changed his tune real quick. This party was his idea."

"Did he go anywhere before you got the good news?" asked Lisbon.

"Yeah, he stormed out of here and said he was going to the bar. We haven't been properly introduced."

"This is Teresa Lisbon," Jane began, but Lisbon finished her own introduction. She opened her blazer to reveal the badge attached to her waistband.

"I'm with the California Bureau of Investigation, ma'am. Jane was assaulted tonight. We're just trying to cover all the possibilities."

"You think Sonny did this?" Sadie was looking with horror at Jane.

"What time did he leave to go to the bar?" asked Lisbon.

"Around three," she said.

"That would have given him plenty of time," commented Lisbon, glancing at Jane. "What's the name of that bar? We need to check out his alibi."

"Now, wait just a second," said Sadie, seeming to sober up before their eyes. "Sonny was mad, sure. For one thing, he already thinks Patrick is a phony, that I'm wasting my money on him—no offense—and when I told him what I did with Aunt Mary's money, he blew a gasket. But that doesn't mean he'd hurt anybody."

"What about after a few drinks?" Lisbon asked.

"Not even—"

The bedroom door swung wide open, and in stepped a man that couldn't be anyone other than Sonny Brooks.

"What's goin' on in here?" he demanded, surveying with surprise the strange occupants of his bedroom. His focus zoomed in on Jane. "You!" he growled, and then he was advancing on Jane before anyone could get their bearings. He grabbed the much less mobile Jane up into a huge bear hug, squeezing him for all he was worth. Jane let out a strangled sound somewhere between a cry and a groan, but Sonny squeezed even tighter.

Lisbon came up behind the embracing pair as soon as she got her wits about her.  
"Let him go! You're hurting him!" She demanded.

But Sonny, a big man, not only didn't budge, but began shaking him like a rag doll. Jane promptly fainted.

"Sonny, put him down!" cried Sadie, as she joined Lisbon in beating him on the back. Lisbon was about to pull her weapon out when the giant promptly stopped, and Jane slid bonelessly to the floor.

"Jesus Christ, Sonny, you killed him!" exclaimed Sadie.

Lisbon shot them both an enraged expression, then dropped to her knees beside Jane.

She felt his pulse and found it was slow but steady, his face deathly white.

"Jane? Jane?" she asked, lightly slapping his cheeks. He groaned in response, then coughed a little. He seemed to be coming around. She looked back up at Sonny.

"What the hell were you doing? Trying to finish the job?"

"What?" said Sonny, genuinely shocked that he'd hurt someone. "I—I was just trying to thank him for convincing Sadie here where to invest her money. I didn't mean to break him."

"Where were you at around eight o'clock tonight?"

"Picking up the keg for the party. Shit, I just gave him a hug."

"Teresa?" came Jane's faint whisper, his eyes still closed.

"Jane? Are you okay?"

He chuckled softly, coughed again, then moaned from the pain of both actions.

"It wasn't him," he muttered.

"What?"

"Not the same voice. The guy who jumped me. Not him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his green-eyed guardian angel. "And look at his shoes."

Lisbon spared a glance at Sonny's feet, saw he was wearing running shoes and not steel-toed boots.

She gave Jane a small smile of relief. Sadie had gone into the master bathroom and brought out a small paper cup of water. Lisbon propped Jane's head up so he could drink.

"We need to get you back to the hospital," she told him. "You think you can get up, or do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No," he said, before sipping the water gratefully. "Just give me a minute."

"Someone beat you up?" Sonny was saying. "Who'd do such a thing?"

"Someone who didn't like Jane's…interference," replied Lisbon.

"Why, Patrick's the most charming man I've ever met," said Sadie. "I can't believe someone would be that upset with him."

Lisbon barely muffled a snort at that contention. "Well, I guess it wasn't your husband who attacked him. Sorry to have intruded on your party."

"Not at all. Please, you're welcome to stay. Have a drink."

"No, thanks. Jane should really be back in the hospital."

She'd gotten Jane up to a sitting position, and he rested a moment, perspiration gathering at his temples.  
"Here, man," said Sonny, squatting down beside them and offering his hand. "I'm sure sorry for hurting you. Cracked ribs? Those hurt like a mother fucker, I know firsthand."

Jane looked reluctantly at his most recent assaulter, then at Lisbon. Despite her fitness and strength, he was somewhat unsure that such a petite little thing like her could get him painlessly to his feet, but Sonny Brooks certainly wasn't his number one choice either.

"I got him," said Lisbon determinedly, brushing Sonny aside. The next thing Jane knew, Lisbon was hoisting him up from behind, her arms supporting Jane beneath his armpits. He grunted against the sharp stabs in his ribs as he straightened his body, but she was indeed stronger than she looked, and she smelled divine.

"Peaches," he murmured, and couldn't see Lisbon's answering blush. When he was standing again, Lisbon put his arm around her shoulder, hers gently about his waist. He leaned heavily on her and willed his legs to move.

"Well ain't she the firecracker,"said Sonny in admiration.

"You don't know the half of it," said Jane with a weak smile.

"I'll send you the usual payment, plus a big bonus," Sadie called after them as Jane and Lisbon maneuvered slowly back down the hallway, the blasting bluegrass music an annoying accompaniment.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Outside, after the long trek back to her car, Lisbon deposited Jane gingerly into the passenger's seat. She reached over his body to buckle his seatbelt for him. She caught his eyes upon her in the pale glow of the car's interior light, and her pulse made its customary response at his nearness.

"Thank you for rescuing me again," he said. "I thought Mongo in there was gonna constrict me like a python. I kept thinking, please don't let me die this way, not with banjos playing in the background."

Lisbon laughed. "It would serve you right. How'd you get involved with these people anyway?"

He shrugged. "Sadie came to a show, wanted me to talk to her Aunt Mary, find out how she wanted her to spend her inheritance."

Lisbon's face sobered. "I don't understand how you can do that to someone who's grieving—pretend to talk to their loved ones. I don't know what bothers me more, the fact that you're deceiving them or that you take their money for it."

"I'm providing a service, Teresa. I comfort people, make them happy. I'm like an adult version of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Sure, it's a lie, but they bring hope and joy to children. No one ever accuses the shopping mall Santa of fraud. Some adults just don't want to let go of their fairy tales."

Lisbon shook her head, still not buying it.

"You might even say the same thing about religion," he dared, reaching up to touch the cross suspended between her breasts. She stilled. "People give millions a year to their church in hopes that some intangible higher power will reward them in heaven some day. That's just about as bad as what I do, isn't it?"

"It all goes to motivation, Jane. You're in it for the money."

"Have you ever watched a televangelist?" he shot back.

They were at an impasse, and Lisbon stepped back from the car and shut his door. They drove back to the hospital in silence. She still had a problem with what he did, but he'd made some good points. Maybe he did offer people hope. But she'd also seen the way Sadie acted so familiarly toward him, as if there had been something sexual between them. Curiosity got the better of her, and she broke the quiet of the car.

"So, were you and Sadie…?"

He'd been dozing, but Jane turned a tired head to look at her. "What? Involved? She's a married woman, Teresa."

"I didn't think that would make much of a difference with you-or her, for that matter."

"Wow. You really have a poor opinion of me." When she neither confirmed nor denied that supposition, he gave a frustrated sigh, and he became deadly serious. "I believe in the sanctity of marriage. I never cheated on my wife, would never cheat with _anyone else's _wife."

"How very chivalrous of you," she said sardonically.

"Sadie isn't what this is about though, is it? I told you I was sorry, Teresa," he said. "I led you on. Spent the whole night with you—not usually my style. I shouldn't have done that, but what can I tell you; you're irresistible, and I couldn't...resist."

He gifted her with a small smile, which she tried desperately to ignore. Her heart, however, just wasn't getting the order.

"And I suppose I should feel flattered that I kept your attention the entire night? You're a user, Jane. A selfish, self-centered user. I blame myself more than you, actually. You know that old story about the snake that charmed a ride in the girl's coat? Well, I shouldn't have been any more surprised than she was when I got bitten, so shame on me."

"You realize how Freudian that story is," Jane suggested, seemingly unfazed by her analysis.

"Go to hell," she said. "And I hope the hospital's run out of morphine," she added spitefully.

"You're a horrible liar," he said softly, but he turned his face to the window, and watched the lights of the hospital loom ever closer.

"And by the way," she retorted lamely, "some back-up you turned out to be."

His soft chuckle made her once again contemplating physical violence.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon watched Jane riding back through the emergency room doors in his wheelchair, listening to the orderly admonishing him about leaving the hospital without checking out.

She went back to her car, hoping she'd be able to find a hotel room this late at night. She was just shutting her door when she got a call from Cho.

"Hey, Boss. I was looking at some of the cases Jane worked while he was here. Did you get your summons for the AG's nephew's trial next week?"

"Yeah, day before yesterday."

"Well, I was looking at the docket, and looks like Jane should have gotten a subpoena."

"Oh, my God. You think someone tried to scare Jane out of testifying?"

"Could be. Worth looking into," he said.

"Jane hadn't mentioned receiving it. He's away from home though; maybe the process server couldn't find him."

"I don't know, Boss. This might be another place to start, though it's gonna be a very delicate situation to investigate."

"Yeah, let's keep this quiet until I can get a few answers on this end. Thanks for working so late. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Will do. Night."  
"Good-night. And thanks again."

Lisbon sat in her car a few minutes. Cho was right. If the AG's family could be linked to hushing up a witness, there'd be a media crap storm, and it would put the CBI in an incredibly awkward position.

She supposed this could wait until morning, after she and Jane had both gotten some rest and she'd be able to make a few calls. She felt physically and emotionally exhausted, mainly because of her conversation with Jane. He was the most infuriating man, but there was a touching vulnerability, a loneliness about him that touched her deeply, especially when he spoke of his wife.

_Dammit, Jane. I hate you. I hate your freakin' guts._

But he was right; she _was_ a horrible liar, even to herself.

A/N: Sorry, but I do so get a secret thrill out of inflicting Jane pain. Just a few more chapters to go now at most. I'd love to hear what you thought.

P.S.: I have nothing against bluegrass music or religion. I was just writing from Jane's point of view. Although I too would not want to die with banjos in the background. Maybe the fiddle. I love the fiddle…

Please look for my tag after Sunday's episode!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: The end is drawing nigh, but still a chapter or two to go. I am trying to stick to around 10 chapters, to prevent boredom (mainly my own). Thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter, as well as for my recent tags. You are the best readers ever!

FYI: This chappie is mildly "M" at the beginning.

**Chapter 10**

Lisbon was dreaming of him. She felt the wetness of his mouth on her fevered skin, felt the magic of his hands wandering her body, knowing exactly where to touch to make her go wild with passion.

"Teresa," he breathed into her ear.

"Oh, God…Jane…"

Her eyes gently fluttered open, and she realized all at once that this was no dream, that the hot lips at her breasts were incredibly real. She tensed, but was so close to her climax that she had no willpower to stop him, to throw him off the bed, not in her mindlessly aroused state.

"Let yourself go," he whispered, echoing their first encounter many months before.

And she did. Wave after wave of feeling coursed through her, and he swallowed her cries with his mouth.

She lay on her back, panting, her heart nearly bursting in her chest. Jane rolled to his side, propping his curly head on his hand to look at her with a triumphant smile. After a few moments, she looked up at him, anger and satiation warring in her slumberous eyes. She pulled down the sleep shirt he had pushed up, blushing furiously in embarrassment at what he'd gotten away with doing to her.

"How the hell did you get in here? And tell me why I shouldn't have you charged with breaking and entering…and—and…assault?"

He shrugged, looking around the dumpy motel room, the only place she could find in the tourist town in the middle of the night.

"It wasn't hard to pick the lock. Places like this are really unsafe, Lisbon. Anyone could have gotten in and attacked you." He grinned.

"I might have shot you for a thief," she told him, wishing with all her heart that she had. "Wait a minute—how did you find me?"

"Good old Cho. I called him this morning after I got this." He reached into his front pants pocket—he was still fully dressed—and brought out an official looking document, carelessly folded in half.

"I was served this morning in the hospital. I guess my named popped up in the police report after my attack, and they found me. Apparently, I have to be back in Sacramento to testify in the Howard case next week. Did you get one of these?"

"Yes," she said, trying to make herself wake up and absorb everything that had happened to her as well as to Jane this morning. She was feeling very groggy, and desperately needed coffee. She knew she should be furious with Jane, but her body still hummed so pleasantly that she was having a difficult time mustering up the requisite anger.

"I'm thinking that maybe someone working for the AG tried to scare me out of testifying."

She raised an eyebrow. Of course, that had been her and Cho's exact supposition the night before. "Cho's already on that," she told him. "I was heading home today."

"You were going to leave without saying good-bye, weren't you?" There was a flash of disappointment in his eyes, and that was what finally brought her anger to the fore. She sat up and knocked his elbow out from under him. His head fell onto the pillow with an "_Oomph."_

"You've got a lot of nerve," she said, climbing out of bed. "Coming in here and practically raping me—"

"Teresa-" he began, angry now himself at her unfair characterization of what had just happened between them.

"—expecting me to forgive and forget what an asshole you are because you can get me off so easily. Well, I haven't forgotten, and yes, I am going back to Sacramento. The team and I are investigating this quietly before we bring anything to Minelli. I suggest you stay out of the way in case whoever did this to you decides to take it a step further—well, unless I do it for them first."

He ignored her threat, sat up, then stood slowly, flinching at the pain in his ribs. "What if you're next," he said softly. "You were the arresting officer, after all."

"Don't pretend to care, Jane. And I've got a gun, remember?" She was suddenly impatient to get going, to solve this case and leave Patrick Jane behind once and for all. He didn't have to mention the fact that if he could get into her room and accost her, then anyone could.

"Look, I'm going to take a shower. When I get out, you'd better be gone. Obviously, you're legally require to go to Sacramento, but if you interfere with this investigation, I'll throw you in jail, understand?"

"It's my investigation too, Teresa. I'm the one who was beaten like a dog in the alley. Let me help you with this. I think I've proven my worth—well, at least in that capacity." His eyes held their familiar charming sparkle, and it was all she could do not to throw the tacky bedside lamp at him.

She sighed, feeling suddenly defeated. "Fine. But don't expect my protection should someone try to kill you. Hell, I might even join in."

"That's my girl," he said with infuriating condescension.

She rolled her eyes and went to the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

"I could get in there if I wanted to," he called.

"And I could see to it that your sex life comes to a screeching halt—permanently."

She leaned against the closed door of the shoddy little bathroom, her body still trembling from the sensual things he'd done to her. She heard his soft chuckle, then the door to her room opened and closed.

"You are in deep trouble, Teresa," she said to herself. "Deep, _deep _trouble."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

When she got out of the shower and reentered the bedroom, she tried to quell her disappointment that he wasn't there waiting for her. She'd imagined him sprawled on her bed with a wicked smile, much as he had on the yacht months before. But he wasn't. He had, however, left her a present. On the small table near the window was a covered cup from a gourmet coffee shop along with a small bakery bag containing a bear claw.

_How the hell did he know I love bear claws? _

She smiled in spite of herself, and took a sip of the coffee, still hot in its insulated cup, perfectly sweetened to her taste. Maybe he was a psychic after all.

She was falling hard for this man; there was no sense in denying it any longer. But she still had to protect her heart from him. She had no doubt he would take whatever she would freely give him and more, then leave her in the lurch once his case was solved. If she couldn't resist him, well, she'd take from him anything she could get, and live on the memories of his hot kisses once he'd left her again. She was a strong woman; she'd survived much worse. She would survive Patrick Jane, if she could keep her heart out of the equation.

She took a bite of the pastry, its cinnamon and almond flavor captivating her taste buds and filling the emptiness in her belly. She would savor it while it lasted, certain that she would taste its sweetness on her tongue long after it was gone.

Xxxxxxxxx

Jane waited in his car, sipping his tea and eating his blueberry muffin. He would follow Lisbon back to Sacramento and figure out who'd jumped him. Then, he would head back to LA and film the pilot for his psychic show. He wouldn't have to travel anymore, could find a smaller place on the beach, live out his days with much more fame and fortune than he'd ever imagined. Unfortunately, the prospect made him feel oddly bereft.

What if he chucked it all and moved to Sacramento? Convinced Minelli to hire him full-time? The thought of working with Teresa every day, seeing the snap of her green eyes when she was angry, seeing the rosy flush of her face when he embarrassed her or when she climaxed so beautifully in his arms—why did these images suddenly eclipse his former desire for notoriety and mountains of cash? He had enough money invested so that he would never be a pauper, but working as a government employee certainly wasn't the way to independent wealth.

He watched her emerge from the motel room, all business in her chocolate pantsuit and cream colored top. He smiled at the high-heeled boots she wore because she didn't need the extra height; she was imposing enough just as she was. Then she caught sight of his vehicle—he hadn't actually been hiding after all. He waved and smiled, and she shook her head, her lovely lips forming an annoyed straight line. His grin widened, and he started his car, ready at that moment to follow her to the ends of the earth—or at least to Sacramento.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The team was cool in their demeanor as they met at O'Malley's Pub for lunch. Jane feasted on a corned beef on rye but the others seemed less inclined to eat, merely picking at their own sandwiches or salads, stressed by the gravity of their dilemma.

"What if Howard's Uncle AG comes after us?" Rigsby was asking. "Maybe not physically, but at our jobs?"

"We can't think about that," Lisbon said. "If the AG is in any way involved, we have to get him no matter what the risks. It's despicable that the leader of the entire justice department would be involved in silencing witnesses, don't you think? We have to think of what's best for the people of California."

Jane grinned over a bite of sandwich. "Isn't she great?" he said to the group at large.

"Yeah," agreed Cho dryly. "The fact that she's putting her job on the line for the likes of you is pretty great."

Jane's smile faded, and he took a sip of his iced tea.

"I think we should look at other possibilities, guys," said Van Pelt. "I mean, all we have is a voice, cowboy boots, and a threat. No offense, Jane, but I bet in your business you have a lot of people who might have taken offense at your psychic readings."

"You're certainly right, Grace," said Jane. And then his expression quickened and he looked at Lisbon. "You know what, most of my clients are women; I can't even remember the last time I gave a man a private reading. If this was a client, this man was working on behalf of a woman."

"What, you don't think this guy beat you on behalf of the AG's nephew?"

"I don't know, but something just clicked for me. This man was much too aggressive and angry to be a hired gun. No…this seemed personal somehow."

"So we're back to square one?" asked Cho.

"No," said Lisbon. "Let's keep going with the AG angle. Jane, why don't we start listing women you might have hurt in the last few months."

He met her eyes and she blushed, but held her head up so the team wouldn't become any more suspicious than they likely were already.

"I bet this takes a while," muttered Rigsby. No one contradicted him, and they ate the rest of their lunch in silence.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane and Lisbon sat in her office working on the list of former and current female clients. He shared with her every detail of every one, but none of them seemed to have been unhappy enough in Jane's estimation to warrant an attack by an angry boyfriend or husband. When they'd gone through at least fifteen women, Jane sat back on her office couch with a tired sigh.

"Can we take a break, please? This isn't exactly my idea of a fun stroll down Memory Lane."

Lisbon's lips quirked in amusement. "It was your idea. None of these women struck a chord for you? I mean, as a possible suspect."

He shook his head. "Nope. I'm completely stumped at the moment."

"Why don't you use your reputed psychic skills to figure out who beat you?"

He shot her a rare look of annoyance. "Funny. I'm seriously rethinking the former client angle. It's got to be a prior case I worked. Let's go over those. After I get a cup of tea. You want one?"

He rose, stretching his stiff legs and grunting a little at his painful ribs after having sat in the same position for too long.

"Did you bring your pain meds?" she asked, then wanted to bite her tongue at her too obvious concern for his welfare.

He grinned. "Why, Lisbon, I didn't know you cared. I'm so drugged up, I'm surprised I'm not passed out on your couch. The pain's not too bad at the moment, though. I'm just a little stiff." He winked at her suggestively, then went to her office door. "Coffee, two sugars?" he verified needlessly, enjoying her usual blush.

She swallowed and tried not to smile. "Yes, thanks."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The rest of the day passed slowly, at least where the leads on Jane's attacker were concerned. However, Lisbon found that she quite enjoyed Jane's company in her office. He made her laugh and alternately blush at his clever jokes and intimate innuendo. He did after a time succumb to his medication and take a nap on her couch, and she had to admit she enjoyed that too. It was the first time she could really observe him in "off" mode, completely without guile. He looked so boyish, so deceptively innocent in sleep, that she felt her eyes soften just looking at him.

He was bad for her in so many ways, had betrayed her, taken advantage of her. She'd sworn she never wanted to be _that_ woman, the kind so drawn in by a charming smile and bad boy ways that she completely lost her common sense. And yet, Lisbon found herself doing just that where the conman was concerned. Of course, it didn't help matters that he could also play her body so well that she still trembled at the memory of his hands and mouth on her that very morning. He made her feel so much that it was a bit overwhelming. She was finding it nearly impossible to keep her vow to separate her heart from her physical attraction.

When Jane slowly opened sleepy eyes and looked at her from his position on her couch, he smiled affectionately at her and Lisbon knew she was well and truly lost, on all counts.

Even in his drowsy state, Jane noticed immediately the change in how Lisbon was looking at him, a new awareness, and he felt his heart thump a little faster. She gazed at him like a woman enamored—he'd seen the expression often enough to recognize it—but the difference was that for the first time in years, he worried his own countenance reflected the very same emotion. He couldn't look away from her, and they stared at each other, hearts pounding gently, as if they'd never really seen each other before.

Without breaking eye contact, he got to his feet and walked around her desk to where she sat. He kicked her rolling chair gently away from her desk, then reached down to take both her hands in his, drawing her to her feet. He was just leaning in to kiss her when someone knocked on the door. He cursed under his breath as Lisbon stepped away from him and bid Van Pelt to come in. The younger woman noted the tension in the room, and looked curiously from Jane to Lisbon, a small smile appearing and disappearing as she correctly surmised what she'd interrupted.

"Sorry, Boss, but something kind of interesting just happened. Well, interesting might not be quite the word—"  
"What is it?" Lisbon interrupted, immediately regretting how gruff she sounded. But Van Pelt was undaunted.

"A young woman just jumped to her death off the Tower Bridge. It's all over the news. I just called SacPD to see if they have an ID and they were actually about to call us. The woman was involved in one of our recent cases: Elizabeth Jeffers, the nanny for Megan Claremont."

Van Pelt paused to let the horrible news sink in. "That poor girl," said Lisbon. "I hope she still didn't somehow blame herself for Megan's disappearance. Everything ended well after all."

"Not for Elizabeth," commented Jane.

"But wait—there's more," continued Van Pelt. "She left a suicide note in her car." Van Pelt looked sadly at Jane. "She named you, Mr. Jane."

"What?" said Lisbon. "Why?"

"I couldn't get anyone to tell me exactly what the note said, but this just happened about a half hour ago. I'm sure everyone is still working the scene."

"Let's go," said Jane.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea—"

"Look, this may be the key to everything, don't you see?"

Lisbon held Jane's gaze and it suddenly clicked for her too. "Right. Jane and I are going," she told Van Pelt.

"Yes, Boss."

Lisbon grabbed her sidearm and jacket, and made sure her badge was attached securely to her belt. She looked up at Jane, apologetic both for the interruption, as well as the reason for it. He followed her quietly out to the lobby, where they waited solemnly for the elevator.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a beautiful fall day in Sacramento. The sky was a bright blue against the awe-inspiring Tower Bridge, the city's own much smaller, but certainly more gilded, Golden Gate. One-hundred feet below, the Sacramento trudged slowly and ominously along, having claimed another victim. A chill breeze blew off the water, and Lisbon and the others pulled their jackets closer. They had parked on the side of the road, and walked down to the River Walk below the bridge where SacPD and the Coast Guard had just recovered the body. Emergency vehicles, along with the coroner's van, and various press vehicles, had already arrived. Lisbon and her team flashed their badges and were admitted past the police tape.

Jane looked at the sodden body of Elizabeth Jeffers. He remembered vividly how horribly upset and guilt-ridden she had been when he'd called her out for the mistake that led to Megan's escape through the back door. Mrs. Claremont had really laid into her, screaming that she wanted her out of her house. Sure, that had been a horrible experience, but it wasn't like Megan had died. What could have compelled this poor girl to have taken her life?

He watched in admiration as Lisbon, in full CBI mode, approached the SacPD officer in charge of the scene. The officer brought from beneath his jacket a zip top bag with what he assumed was Elizabeth's suicide note. She nodded toward Jane and the policeman's face grew pinched with suspicion. Jane supposed it didn't look too good when you were someone's last words. He reluctantly handed over the small notebook page to Lisbon, who brought it over to Jane.

She held it out for both of them to read. In a shaky scrawl, Elizabeth had written:

_It's been three months. No one will hire me. I am knee deep in debt. The Claremonts have ruined my life, badmouthed me to everyone. They gave me no references, not even after the two years of devotion I've given to Megan. They wouldn't even let me say good-bye to her. I don't see myself doing anything but working with children, and that's been ruined for me. I blame the Claremonts, but mostly I blame Patrick Jane. If he hadn't said anything, no one would have ever known. He manipulated me into confessing. I hope he feels guilty for this for the rest of his life…_

"It's not your fault, Jane," Lisbon said softly. "She was obviously a very troubled young woman."

Jane looked out across the river, squinted at the sun shining off its slow-moving surface.

"Probably. But that really doesn't make me feel better."

"SacPD said they found a prescription bottle of anti-depressants in her car. Maybe she'd forgotten a few doses."

"You know what I hate more than anything, Lisbon? Waste."

She nodded quietly in agreement. "Do you think she might have hired someone to hurt you?"

"Maybe. She was pretty bitter. I'd be curious to know if the Claremonts had received any threats or attacks lately."

"I'll get Van Pelt on that," she said. "You ready to go?"

"I'd like to have a look at her car first."

Lisbon spoke once more to the officer who led them to Elizabeth Jeffers's car and gave them each a pair of latex gloves. Jane looked inside the subcompact with keen interest, noting the pill bottle, and the ashes in the ashtray.

"She wasn't a smoker," he positively told Lisbon. "And these ashes are recent." He picked up a butt. "This brand is usually too strong for women. Boyfriend, brother maybe. It would help if you could get this DNA tested."

"We'll look into next of kin and possible personal relationships. She might have cried on someone's shoulder about you. They could have taken it upon themselves to find you and get back at you in her name."

"Great minds, Lisbon," he said. "Great minds…"

He found the notebook that the letter must have been torn out of. There was nothing else in it to suggest what led her to end it all. "Any witnesses to her jumping?" Jane asked the policeman.

"About twenty of them came forward, plus several 911 calls reporting the woman climbing over the railing of the bridge."

"So no reports of anyone pushing her."

"No," said the cop. "We're pretty certain this was a suicide."

"Call me when toxicology comes back," said Lisbon, handing him her card.

The man looked annoyed. "Is the CBI taking over this case?"

"No," she assured him. "But one of our own was indirectly involved. We'd like to be kept abreast."

"Yes, ma'am." But he didn't seem too thrilled about it.

Jane and Lisbon walked back toward the company SUV. He couldn't get over the sharp tang of gladness that had come when she'd referred to him as _one of our own. _He hadn't been considered part of an organization since he'd travelled with the carnival as a kid. It was quite a surprise to feel the pride of being lumped in with a group again, even if it would make his father turn over in his grave to learn he was working _with _the cops now.

"Thank you, Teresa," he said, as Lisbon pulled the vehicle away from the scene.

"You're welcome," she replied, and it was funny that she didn't even have to question what he was thanking her for. Somehow, she had just known.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time darkness had fallen, none of the team had managed to track down a boyfriend for Elizabeth Jeffers, although they'd ruled out any siblings.

"Maybe we're barking up another wrong tree," said Rigsby, setting his gun and badge tiredly on his desk.

"We're not," said Jane from his place on the bullpen couch. "I can feel it."

Cho just barely refrained from rolling his eyes, but Van Pelt zeroed in on Jane like a laser. She swiveled her desk chair around to face him. "Do you really? You mean, like a _psychic _feeling?"

Jane couldn't help but smile indulgently. "Maybe," he said.

"Jane," Lisbon warned, entering the bullpen in time to hear the last bit of their conversation.

"The girl has her own beliefs. I wouldn't want to take away her innocence."

"Jane's no psychic," offered Cho. "If he were, he'd be able to tell us who the hell kicked his ass."

Jane moved his hands in a circular, mystical manner. "Always in motion is the future."

"So you're Yoda now?" asked Rigsby with a laugh.

"He was a great philosopher," said Jane, his face solemn though his eyes twinkled with humor.

"He wasn't real," added Lisbon. "Kind of like you."

"I'm real enough."

"Well, let's call it quits for the day guys," Lisbon said, ignoring Jane's words, which oddly seemed like a challenge. "I doubt if the boyfriend would leave the area now, with all the attention on Elizabeth."

The team didn't complain, but began packing things in for the night.

Later, Jane walked Lisbon out to her car.

"Where are you staying?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she dug her car keys from her pocket.

"I've no idea. Is this where you tell me not to leave town, Agent Lisbon?" He sounded almost hopeful.

"You're a free man, Jane. No need for me to keep tabs on you."

He stepped closer to her, automatically attempting to pick up where Van Pelt had interrupted them earlier.

"What if I _want_ you to keep tabs on me?" he asked, taking her hand. He ran his thumb over her wrist, pleased to feel her pulse jump at his touch.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Aw, Lisbon, you're mouth says no…"

"And so does my trusty knee," she threatened.

"You weren't saying much of anything this morning," he reminded her. "Unless moans and groans count."

"I'm still mad at you for that." Even in the relative darkness of the parking lot, he knew she must be blushing.

"No, you're not. As a matter of fact," he continued, pulling her closer, "I think you like the fact that there's more where that came from. _Much _more."

"Jane, stop. Not here."

"Where, then?" he asked, pouncing on the possible invitation.

She stared into his eyes, which had turned soft, appealing, and in every way irresistible. He continued to massage her wrist, and she felt like she might melt to the pavement at the sensual touch.

"My place," she said in a rush, before she could change her mind.

"Really?" he was genuinely surprised at how easily she'd acquiesced.

"On one condition."

He raised a brow. "What's that, pray tell?"

"You don't run off without saying good-bye. In person."

He saw that she meant it. "I won't," he promised, and God help her, Lisbon believed him.

She let go of his hand and pressed the key remote for her Mustang. "Follow me," she said throatily.

Jane, speechless for once, could only nod.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

As first Lisbon, then Jane drove out of the CBI parking lot, a dark sedan parked down the street, pulled out into the night two cars behind them.

A/N: Blame those who wanted the case extended for the additional chapters of this fic. I could have tied all this up last chapter if it weren't for peer pressure, lol. I hope it isn't becoming too off track. And also, I hope no one is too mad at Lisbon for succumbing to Jane's charms again. I mean, who could blame her?

Please sign in and let me know what you're thinking. I am easily swayed by my peers, you know. Just like high school all over again…

P.S. I hope you've put me on author alert so you'll be sure to get notice of this weekend's tag.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry if you were expecting an episode tag from me this morning. I'm still working on the right angle for it. Hopefully I'll have that up for you soon. Meantime, please enjoy this little bonus chapter. I was bored yesterday so I started the next chapter sooner than usual. I hope you like it!

**Chapter 11**

Jane parked next to Lisbon in front of her apartment building and hurriedly got out of his car. He felt like a teenager again, all runaway hormones and butterflies in his stomach. He was at her Mustang door in an instant, anxious to take her hand, the faster to get her out and into his arms.

She smiled up at him, her dimples in full force, and Jane felt the heavy stir of desire. The moment her door was closed, he'd pushed her petite body against the car, his head dipping until his mouth fused with hers. He poured all the longing and loneliness of the last three months into it, his tongue slipping purposefully past her lips to slide sensually over hers, and she made a welcoming sound that shot straight to his pounding heart.

After a few moments, he tore his lips away to kiss her cheek, then took her delicate earlobe between his teeth. She held onto his shoulders for support, feeling her knees nearly buckle as he breathed shakily into her ear.

"Teresa…how I want you…"

"Come inside with me," she whispered almost desperately.

He pressed his hardness into her stomach and kissed his way back to her mouth. "Oh, I fully intend to," he said, his words laced with wicked innuendo. He felt her tremble again, this time with laughter.

"And there he is," she said.

He raised his head to meet her shining eyes, then grinned at her bemused expression.

"Who?"

"Naughty Jane."

He chuckled softly. "Is that how you think of me?"

She nodded, still smiling. "Sometimes. Of course, other times you can be Good Jane."

"And which one of us do you like better?"

She leaned forward and briefly touched her swollen lips to his. "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation," she said in her most official tone.

He laughed and pulled her more tightly into his arms (despite his protesting ribs), and breathed in the intoxicating fragrance of her hair.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The dark sedan had pulled into the back of the parking lot behind Jane and Lisbon, the car partly concealed by a decorative hedge. The driver immediately killed the lights and sat back more comfortably in his chair. His companion in the passenger's seat pulled out her night-vision binoculars, focusing in on the lovers, now locked in a passionate embrace, completely oblivious to their stalkers.

"Dear Lord," Van Pelt exclaimed under her breath. "I was right."

In the back seat, Rigsby unbuckled and leaned forward, reaching for the binoculars. "Hey," she protested, but he was already looking at the disconcerting sight of their boss in a clinch with a man.

"Damn."

"You owe me twenty dollars," Cho reminded Rigsby.

"Damn," he swore again.

Resigned that she wouldn't be getting the binoculars back anytime soon, Van Pelt settled back into her seat and watched from a distance at the pair so tightly embracing they seemed to have become one body. She flushed in embarrassment, putting herself in Lisbon's shoes. Patrick Jane was one of the hottest men she'd ever seen in person; boy, was the boss a lucky girl.

"This isn't right," she said suddenly. "Spying on them like this. Lisbon would be totally pissed off if she knew."

"Come on, Grace," said Rigsby. "You're starting to sound more like a girl every day. Besides, Minelli told us to follow Jane to keep an eye on him in case his attacker returns. It's not our fault that Jane was following the boss."

"Well, he's with an armed state agent now; don't you think the boss is just as capable of handling him?"

Rigsby snorted at her unintentional pun, and Van Pelt even caught Cho grinning beside her.

"You guys are pigs," she said in disgust, crossing her arms in front of her breasts and closing her eyes to try to give Jane and Lisbon some privacy.

"Man," Rigsby said, ignoring Van Pelt's chastisement. "They're really gettin' after it."

"Must we have a play-by-play?" said the rookie agent in annoyance.

"Well, now they're breaking it up, and Jane is going back to his car. Maybe I don't owe you after all, Cho."

"Wait for it," said Cho knowingly, although his eyes were closed like Van Pelt's.

"Lisbon is heading toward her apartment and…Jane's getting something out of the back of his car. Crap; it's an overnight bag."

"See," said Cho.

"Now Jane's following after her. She's already inside her apartment. Someone's a little impatient," Rigsby commented lasciviously, and Van Pelt reached into the back seat to smack his arm.

"Hey!"

Rigbsy momentarily lost focus with the binoculars, but when he regained it, his eyes widened, and he watched the scene for a moment in shock.

"Holy-! Let's go!"

"What?" said Van Pelt, but Rigsby was already out the door and running toward Jane.

His two companions quickly followed after him, but by then, Rigsby's long strides had taken him almost upon the consultant.

"Put it down!" Rigsby yelled, gun drawn. "CBI!"

A tall man in a leather jacket and cowboy boots was standing over Jane with an aluminum baseball bat. Jane was already on the pavement, groaning at the blow that had likely broken a few more ribs.

The attacker was about to swing again, when it finally dawned on him that he'd been caught. He froze and looked around at the three agents, their weapons trained on his seething form.

"Drop the bat!" said Cho.

"He killed Elizabeth!" the man wailed.

"Drop the goddamn bat!" said Van Pelt this time, furious that an unarmed man lay in pain on the hard asphalt. Doors began opening at nearby apartments, porch lights flicking on at the sound of the commotion.

This time, the man set it down, where it made a metallic clatter and rolled back and forth at his feet.

Rigsby was on him in a second, angrily handcuffing him and reading him his rights as he walked him back toward the unmarked CBI car.

Van Pelt dropped to her knees beside Jane, calling an ambulance while Cho sighed as if he'd drawn the short straw, and headed toward Lisbon's apartment. He knocked once on the door, and he heard Lisbon call: "Come in; it's open," in a sultry voice he never wanted to hear from his boss again.

"Boss, it's Cho," he replied.

There was an audible gasp and the quick padding of feet. Lisbon came to the door a minute later, out of breath, a robe thrown quickly around her.

"Cho? What's going on? Where's-? Uh, why are you here?"

"Someone attacked Jane in the parking lot," he began, then succinctly informed her of all the circumstances leading him to her doorstep.

"Is Jane okay?" she asked, belting her robe more tightly and slipping on her flip-flop sandals near the door.

"I think the guy only got one good whack at him before we stopped him."

They walked side-by-side out to Jane, who by now was able to sit up with Van Pelt's aid. He caught sight of Lisbon and laughed, then groaned and laughed again. She squatted beside him and shook her head at him as the distant sound of an ambulance tore through the night. A small crowd had gathered on the grass close to the apartment complex, and Van Pelt, avoiding Lisbon's eyes, jumped in with Cho to begin crowd control, encouraging them all to return to their homes.

When the ambulance arrived, Lisbon sent the team to take their prisoner back to HQ, while she stayed with Jane.

"I'm not going back to the hospital," whined Jane. "Look, I can stand up. I've still got pain meds. I'll be fine." He attempted to rise, but Lisbon and the paramedics held him down.

"What if you have internal injuries, sir," said a female paramedic.

"If I start bleeding internally, you'll be the first one I call, I promise." He winked at her.

"So you're refusing medical help," clarified the blushing paramedic.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. He flashed her his widest smile and Lisbon watched sympathetically as the other woman grew even more flustered.

"I'll look out for him," Lisbon said. "Thanks for coming. Sorry you guys were called out for nothing," and she shot Jane an angry glance.

"I hate hospitals," he reminded Lisbon. "No offense," he said to the departing paramedics.

"You're becoming a damned nuisance," said Lisbon dryly, helping him walk slowly to her apartment.

He noticed suddenly she was wearing a robe.

"What do you have on beneath that robe, Agent Lisbon?"

"A smile," she said, slightly embarrassed. "I barely had time to throw this on when Cho came to the door."

He chuckled, imagining the scene. "I'm sorry I missed that. Along with what's under that robe."

"Me too," she said softly.

"Well, on the bright side, at least this time we know for sure who did it."

"Cho said the guy was likely Elizabeth Jeffers's boyfriend. We'll find out more once Cho's gotten through with her."

"Poor guy," added Jane, actually feeling a little sorry for his attacker.

"Where to?" Lisbon asked in the small foyer of her apartment. "Couch or bed?"

"Bed, if you don't mind. I have the overwhelming desire to lie down." His hand dropped from around her waist to briefly cup her behind.

"Don't get any funny ideas, loverboy," Lisbon warned. "Not in your condition."

"You underestimate the strength of my will," he said as she helped lower him to her bed.

"It's not your _will_ that I'll need to be strong," she countered with a coy grin.

"Would you listen to that, now? Naughty _Lisbon_ has made her appearance."

"Too bad people are always trying to kill you or she might make an appearance more often."

Lisbon helped him put his feet up and covered him with the blanket folded at the end of her bed. He relaxed and smiled around the pain.

"Where are your meds?" she asked him.

"In my coat pocket," he said. He began patting down his pockets, and yelped as he turned the wrong way. Lisbon continued the search, finding the bottle of painkillers in his inside coat pocket. She went to the bathroom for a paper cup of water and doled out his pill into his palm.

"Thank you, Lisbon," he said sincerely. "And not just for the meds."

"It's the team you should be thanking, and Minelli, the old busybody. I'm just supplying the bed."

"You're a peach," he said with a smile, pleased to see by her blush at the shared memory. "And I do so enjoy peaches."

She paused, then leaned down to kiss him. "I remember," she whispered. He reached up and pulled her head down, tasting her as if she were indeed the sweetest of fruits.

She pulled reluctantly away, disappointed that her plans with him had been foiled, yet somehow happy that he wasn't physically capable of going anywhere, at least not this night.

"I'm really pathetic," she said.

"What?" he replied, startled.

"I didn't mean to say that aloud," she said looking quickly away. "Sorry."

"You're not pathetic, Teresa."

"Seriously? Just the fact that I'm letting you into my life again—hell, into my _bed_- against my better judgment, practically screams pathetic…Good God, Jane, I swore I would never let this happen to me. I'm a strong, independent woman."

"Yes, you are," he agreed.

"I don't need a man, especially a charming, manipulative, _absent_ one. No offense."

He smiled sadly, although he was not offended.

"If the imputation fits…Your strength is probably what scared the hell out of me. I run from things that…touch me. People who get to me. You get to me, Teresa. _You_ scare the hell out of me. And yet, I can't seem to run away this time. At least, not for long, and not very far. Now who's the pathetic one?"

"But why do I feel that if I give myself to you again, you'll just run?"

"Because you're a smart woman, and that's what I did before."

"Ha. Yet here you are, and you're here because I invited you. Tell me I'm not making a fool of myself, Jane."

"I hope I'm not, Teresa. For both our sakes. But I'm an old dog. Not running-well that's a new trick, at least for me. So I suppose it's up to you now, if you'd like to attempt to…teach me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

While she was on the phone with Cho, Jane had fallen asleep. She'd gotten his bag from his car earlier and helped him to change into his pale blue silk pajamas. It was both a pleasurable and painful experience for both of them—wanting one another but Jane too groggy from the drugs and pain to do much more than offer her a few lazy kisses.

Cho had gotten a full confession from their suspect, one Gerald Strahan, who had been acting on behalf of his fiancé.

"Mystery solved," she said, disconnecting with Cho to look at the sleeping man by her side. "Well, one mystery anyway."

She kissed his cheek, then snuggled beneath the covers beside him. Maybe he had underestimated himself. Maybe he wasn't too old and set in his ways to change. The question was, was she brave enough to take on that responsibility?

A/N: Did I surprise you? Give you a chuckle? I hope so! Please review and let me know. And thanks to all you new readers, both to this fic and my others. Please don't be shy about reviewing. I try to reply to every one. And there is no statute of limitations on when you can leave a review, so go ahead and tell me what you thought when you read "Red Ryder" or "The Ghost and Mr. Jane." Reviews keep me motivated to write more!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Yes, I'm behind on replies, but I'll get to them as soon as I can. I do appreciate everyone who has responded so positively to this fic. I hope you like this chapter, especially since it goes "M"-rated toward the end. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 12**

The next morning, Lisbon awoke to the sound of Jane's agonized groan. She turned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his intent likely the bathroom.

"Here, let me help you," she said, jumping up and going around to kneel at his side. He was attempting to unbutton his pajama shirt.

"Good morning, my dear," he said softly, smiling at her sleep mussed hair, and also at the crease from her pillow that stretched down one warm cheek.

She paused in her work and looked up at him. "Good morning. How do you feel?"

"Like someone beat me with a baseball bat. You?"

"Like I slept next to someone who'd been beaten with a baseball bat."

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly. He knew that despite the medication, every time he'd turned over or even moved a little in the night, he'd let out a small cry of pain.

His shirt now off his shoulders, she regarded his wrapped torso.

"Would you like me to unwrap these bandages? I saw you'd brought extras from the hospital."

"Yes, please. I'd kill for a shower. But don't try any funny stuff, because once I get started, I'll _only_ be getting started, if you know what I—"

Her sharp gasp interrupted his self-deprecating monologue. He looked down in the dull morning light from the window to see what she saw.

"Dear God," she said under her breath. She flipped on the bedside lamp, and he blinked against the brightness.

Jane's skin, from his chest to his waist, was a mottled, painful rainbow of hideous color. The older faded blue and yellow bruises overlapped and collided with the newer blacks and deep purples of his more recent injuries. Her eyes watered with sympathy, and suddenly Jane felt her warm lips pressed gently to his sternum. He tensed painfully, but then relaxed as she rained light kisses over him, her soft hair feeling heavenly against his bare, aching muscles. His hands came up to rest on her slim shoulders, his heart rate increasing at her touch. Eventually, her mouth made it up to his.

He tasted her tears on his tongue, felt his own eyes tear up at the tender way she kissed him, her innate compassion threatening to overwhelm him. No one had genuinely cared about him in this way in so long that Jane now felt oddly bereft thinking of the years he had been alone, but at the same time, filled to the brim with emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel since the day of his wife's death.

When her small hand glided over his chest again, moving lower to the silk of his pajama bottoms, he stilled it with a muffled cry.

"Teresa, stop…please…"

Instantly, she moved her hand and looked at him apologetically. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. But I'm afraid that while the spirit is more than willing, the body feels like its been hit by a Mack truck. Believe me, you don't know how sorry I am about that."

She nodded, smiling wryly, then stepped away from him with a small sigh.

"Would you like some help to the shower?"

"That would be delightful," he said with a grin.

She reached out her hands to grasp his, and he mentally prepared himself for the pain to come.

She gave him a small countdown. "Three. Two. One." And she pulled him up slowly, flinching as he swore under his breath words she hadn't used herself since college. Finally, he managed to straighten up, and she helped him with the few plodding steps to the bathroom.

"You sure you don't want me to wash your back?" she asked, concerned with the pain he would feel trying to bathe himself.

He chuckled. "I'm going for a hot shower to help relax my muscles, Lisbon, not a cold one."

She blushed.

"Thank you anyway," he said, tracing the pillow crease on her cheek. "And no matter what you hear, don't be tempted to come in here unless I specifically beg for help," he warned.

"But—"

"Promise me."

"Okay," she relented. "How about I cook you some eggs while I wait?"

"That, my love, would be heavenly."

Her eyes widened at the use of the _L-word_, but it seemed to have slipped out without him having even taking notice of it, so she made no comment, though her heart pounded suddenly. He slowly shut the door between them, her last glimpse of his face holding a smile of pure longing.

On his side of the door, Jane allowed himself to consider the meaning of the word he'd used so offhandedly. He rested his palms against the sink vanity, his eyes meeting his own in the mirror above it. He looked as surprised as Lisbon had. His gaze skittered nervously away from his reflection to note how she had thoughtfully put his shaving kit on the counter, had hung his robe on the back of the door, just like a wife would do. At that troubling realization, the face in the mirror grew nearly panicked, his eyes going round with disbelief.

"I've fallen for this woman," he whispered. "Holy shit."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane spent three long, boring days alone in Lisbon's apartment, trying to recover enough to mingle again in polite society while she went off to work. She'd had a call in the middle of the night that a serial killer had struck again, one with the intriguing name of Red John. Apparently the sick bastard cut open his female victims and painted a smiling face on the wall in their blood. When Lisbon had told him about it, he'd had the immediate and disturbing desire to join the investigation, but Lisbon had summarily vetoed the idea

"You need to heal completely first." At his bland expression, her eyes narrowed. "Don't make me put a wheel boot on your car."

He'd held up his hands in surrender. "Whatever you say, Agent Lisbon."

Her kiss good-bye was almost compensation for having to tell her goodbye from the bed they'd platonically shared the past two nights. And so he'd puttered slowly around her small place, watching old movies or nature programs, reading the paper, working Sudoku and crossword puzzles, and even allowing Lisbon to show him how to play chess against her laptop computer. He always won.

Her taste in books ranged from those on law enforcement to murder mysteries, and much to his surprise, he found himself suddenly incredibly curious about California State law and criminal psychology. He hadn't mentioned it to Lisbon, but he'd decided he'd give up the psychic game for awhile and try his hand at crime solving. It was a big step to settle down after so many years on the road, but the idea of finding himself an apartment in Sacramento seemed suddenly appealing. Neither had he mentioned his revelation two days before in the bathroom, but he allowed himself to settle into his new-found feelings, to get used to the idea that he might well be in love with someone who wasn't his wife.

He refrained from calling her _love_ again, deciding he'd better wait until he'd figured out if she was feeling the same. It was amazing to him that he couldn't read her like he could other women. Sure, she was obviously attracted to him, and even must care about him, given how she'd opened her home to him so readily. But love? He was uncharacteristically blinded to her feelings on the subject, and that, along with his loneliness, was slowly driving him crazy.

At five o'clock in the evening, he broke down and called her.

"Hey, what's up?" she answered.

Instantly he felt better just hearing her voice, despite how tired she sounded.

"You coming home anytime soon?" he asked, cringing at himself for sounding like a desperate housewife. Her frustrated sigh filled his ear, and he immediately forgot about his boredom.

"In a couple of hours. I think we are finally at yet another dead end with this one, if you'll pardon the unfortunate pun."

"Sorry. If you'd just let me at him—"

"No. Your recovery is too important."

"Well, I'm feeling much better today."

Her voice brightened considerably. "Really? I'm glad to hear it. Are you still stiff?"

He chuckled, and on the other end of the call, Lisbon shivered visibly. "Well, yes and no."

"I'm not even touching that one," she said in amusement.

"You sure about that?"

He could imagine her rolling her beautiful green eyes, and wondered if she was alone or trying to hide her reactions from a curious audience.

She laughed. "You're really bad." But Lisbon's pulse was racing, and she was suddenly thinking of how she could get home more quickly.

"Naughty, even," he replied.

"Oh?" And she couldn't help but sound intrigued.

"Get home and find out."

There was a pause, and then her voice dropped to a sultry level that had him trembling with anticipation as well.

"I'll be there as soon as humanly possible."

"I'll be waiting," he said softly, and disconnected.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon was home an hour later. He met her at the door, removing her jacket for her and hanging it on the hook in the small foyer. Before she could mutter more than a tired hello, he gathered her into his arms, kissing her senseless. Both of them breathing heavily, he whispered, "Go take a shower and I'll heat up some soup for you."

She nodded, then lightly touched her lips to his one more time. "Thank you."

She came back to the kitchen twenty minutes later, refreshed though still tired, if the line between her brows was any indication. She wore her favorite sleep pants and a CBI t-shirt, her hair damp at the ends. She joined him at the small café table and he set a steaming bowl of chicken soup before her, along with a slice of bread and butter and a glass of iced tea. She looked shyly at him, then took a bite of her soup.

"This tastes homemade," she said in surprise. "How-?"

"How did I make this with the meager contents of your pantry?"

She took another bite of the savory broth. "Well…yeah."

He shrugged and grinned. "I'm amazing, what can I say?"

She laughed. "Yes you are. This is delicious."

She took a bite of bread. "My God, Jane, did you make the bread too?"

"I know, I know. Is there anything I can't do?"

"Show some modesty?" she suggested, but she was grinning ear-to-ear by now. She finished the soup and requested another helping while he asked questions about the Red John case. She was surprised at his knowledge of the law and criminal behavior.

"He's evaded us for years," she told him, "leaving no clues other than his gruesome calling card. Unfortunately, we'll just have to wait until he strikes again before we can hope to find something. Someday he'll have to make a mistake."

Jane nodded, deciding that he would go into CBI HQ and look at the file as soon as he got clearance from Doctor Lisbon. But he didn't mention that to her. Instead, he took her empty bowl and dishes and put them in the sink. Despite his protests, she rose to help him clean up. When she opened the small trashcan to dispose of her paper napkin, she noted the boxes from a deli and bakery down the street. She turned on him in amazed annoyance, her hands on her hips.

"Why, you old conman."

He didn't seem apologetic at all. "You seriously need to get some groceries in this place, woman. Not even a magician could have conjured something up from your empty cupboards. And I'm tired of frozen dinners and Chinese delivery. I took a walk today and found this great place…"

"Sorry. I'm not much of a cook, and I don't have time to do much more than heat something up at the end of the day."

"Well, tomorrow, I'm going shopping."

They stared at each other, both mulling over the real meaning of their conversation. It sounded so…_domestic_. And he'd also said _tomorrow_, implying that he would still be there with her, at least another day. She swallowed, not daring to hope.

"You, uh, took a walk?" she said, changing the subject by picking up on his earlier statement. "How was that?"

"A little slow, but I had to get out of this apartment before I went mad. I'm not used to staying in one place so long." There was meaning in that too, and Lisbon had to make herself face that his days with her were numbered.

"I'm glad you are feeling so much better," she said, trying to distance herself now. She'd allowed herself to enjoy his presence in her life and beside her in bed far too much. She took a sponge from the sink and moved to wipe off the table.

He watched her in silence, sensing her withdrawal. She was doubting him, which didn't surprise him much; he was probably doubting himself just as much. She took the sponge back to the sink and rinsed her hands, drying them methodically on a dish towel.

"Thank you for dinner," she said politely. "I'm going to read a bit and turn in."

He blocked her path out of the kitchen, placing his hands on her shoulders. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Teresa," he said. He put his finger beneath her chin to try to make her look at him. When that didn't work, and she stubbornly closed her eyes, he swooped in and kissed her. At first she stood still, valiantly trying to resist him, and he felt a moment of déjà vu. She'd tried this very thing when he'd kissed her the first time, but he knew her well enough now to know just what to do to get her to kiss him back. His tongue snaked out, following the seam of her lips, while at the same time placing his hands on either cheek, his fingers laced partly in her hair. It worked, of course, and she gave in with a little mewl of pleasure.

He kissed her deeply, his hands wandering down to the hem of her tee, slipping beneath to find her warm stomach, and upward still to joyfully confirm what he had suspected—she wasn't wearing a bra. He found her taut nipples with his thumbs, and she moaned into his mouth. Then, tentatively, one of her hands lowered to his slacks. She felt his hardening length beneath the expensive fabric, felt him tremble at her touch as she traced him with her fingers.

"Let's move this party into the bedroom, shall we?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Are you sure?" she asked, thinking of his injuries, but he had the feeling the question was actually for both of them.

"Yes," he said, and she was looking at him this time, saw solemnity and desire in his blue-green gaze. "Are _you_ sure?"

"I'm only sure that I want you," she said, and he knew it had cost her to admit it. While it hurt him that she still didn't trust him completely, her desire would suffice, at least for now.

He nodded, then took her hand and led her to the bedroom.

As much as both of them wanted to hurry, they took their time undressing one another, Lisbon fearful of hurting him; Jane afraid that he might lose control if they sped things up. When they were both finally naked, his torso free of bandages, they entered either side of the bed like long-time lovers, meeting in the middle on their sides to embrace, warm skin against skin. She was still tentative with him, which was driving him crazy with need, but his mild twinges of pain warned him that he had better take this slow or she'd knock him out of commission again.

He kissed her sweet lips, her warm neck, redolent of citrus soap, then paused between her breasts to listen to the pounding heart that matched his own. She grew impatient and he smiled as she attempted to steer him in the right direction, her hands in his curls. He found one rosy tip at last, and she pulled him tightly to her as he laved her with his tongue over and over, round and round, dividing his attention until she was panting with barely checked desire. His hand meantime moved lower to the heated juncture of her thighs, and she opened eagerly to him, gasping as he entered her slick folds with his finger, massaging and circling until she spasmed around his hand, crying out her release into the darkened bedroom.

He kissed each swollen breast, then found her mouth again, suckling her tongue until she felt the renewed spark of desire. She rolled him gently to his back, pulling back the covers so she could more easily accomplish her goal. She grasped him firmly with one hand, sliding up and down as he let out a moan of welcomed pleasure. Her mouth soon followed, and the feel of the tight wetness was so excruciatingly beautiful he felt like crying. But as much as he would have like to have allowed her to finish him off this way, he wanted the supreme closeness of joining with her body.

"Teresa…please…"

"Hmmm?" she hummed around him, and his hips bucked up in response.

"I want…aww…to be inside of-of you," he told her raggedly.

"Really?" she teased, pausing in her work.

His breathing was rough and uneven, and she reveled in the control she had over this heretofore-untamable man.

"Please," he begged again. With one more stroke of her hands and a sweep of her tongue, she opened the bedside table, then hurriedly slid on a condom. She moved on top of him, taking him slowly inside of her lithe body. They both groaned as she settled all the way down, leaning her palms forward to rest on his shoulders. His hands came to her waist, as each of them tried to catch their breaths and adjust to the glorious sensations pulsing through them. After a few moments, neither of them could remain still any longer, and she raised her hips just as slowly as she'd lowered them, almost releasing him before sliding back down.

"Oh, God," she said. "Jane…"

He raised his hips then—not without pain of sore stomach muscles—but the pleasure soon blotted out everything else as she continued to ride him slowly, building up speed until he was sweating with the effort to keep his movements controlled and even. She sat all the way back and he looked up at her, beautiful in the dim light from the distant living room, her dark hair brushing her shoulders, breasts high and firm. His hands at her hips were almost bruising now as he guided her up and down until she shuddered around him, in turn wringing out of him a long wail of pleasure.

She moved off of him, then slowly lowered her sweat-slicked body to his heaving chest, her face buried into the crook of his neck. She kissed his jaw lovingly, and with a sated sigh, promptly fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair, and he closed his eyes, finding his own oblivion in her arms.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the morning, just as she'd most feared, he was gone.

A/N: One more chapter to go! And yes, I know I said this story wouldn't have Red John, but I couldn't resist bringing him in in an alternate manner, Jane thinking of it as a challenge rather than an obsession. Who knows, perhaps without all of his personal involvement, he might have been able to find the bastard more easily, like he did the San Joaquin killer. Anyway, that's all the mention Red John gets in this fic. And never fear, this story will have a happy ending, I promise.

Until my next tag (so excited about tonight's episode!) and chapter…


	13. Conclusion

A/N: Well, another story down. I can't believe I've written so many that I've lost count! As long as I keep being inspired and keep getting such wonderful support from readers like you, I'll keep churning them out. I hope this conclusion proves satisfying. Thanks once more for reading.

**Chapter 13: Conclusion**

Lisbon's hopes that Jane had gone out to surprise her with breakfast died by eight o'clock. She went to work, forcing herself to send no more texts, to leave no more messages. He'd obviously left her—he'd taken his things-and there was no sense in denying it any longer. He'd made love to her, had found himself feeling too much, and had run, just as he had before. He'd broken his promise to say good-bye before he left her, and she resigned herself to the pain to come. This time, however, it would be much worse. This time, she had fallen in love with him.

"How's Jane," asked Van Pelt curiously when Lisbon passed through the bullpen.

The secret was out that Lisbon and Jane were involved, and the past few days it was obvious by her jocular mood that having the psychic in her life had made the boss very happy. But Van Pelt's polite daily question fizzled when she took the time to really look at Lisbon's puffy eyes, meticulously covered with makeup.

"Oh," muttered Van Pelt, and turned back to her work in embarrassed sympathy.

Rigsby and Cho, normally top-notch detectives, called their usual _good morning_ to their boss, and went about their business, unaware of Lisbon's vast change in demeanor compared to the day before. Van Pelt, however, watched with concern as Lisbon continued on to her office, coffee in hand, where she promptly shut the door and closed her blinds against the world. Her obvious pain tugged at Van Pelt's heart, and she decided she would break the unspoken, cardinal rule against butting into Lisbon's personal life. Not much—just enough to give romance a little shove.

The boss deserved to be happy, and she'd seen the way Jane had acted around her the night they foiled his most recent attack; there was no doubt in Van Pelt's mind Jane had feelings for her too. The junior agent was nothing if not a romantic, and in that spirit, turned to her computer with a new mission.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

By noon, Lisbon had answered all her e-mail, updated her paperwork on their last (though unsolved) case, and could finally think of nothing to do—well, nothing she had the motivation to do. She'd checked her phone several times, even though it was fully charged and the volume up. He hadn't called. Hadn't texted. He was well and truly gone.

As she stared blindly ahead at her shuttered windows, she willed herself not to break down like she had in the shower that morning. It wouldn't do to bring her personal life to the job, and it was already interfering with her thoughts. She stopped just short of praying for a new case to keep her mind off her troubles, when suddenly the small chime announcing a new e-mail caught her immediate attention. She focused on her computer screen, but saw with a sinking heart that it was only from Van Pelt. "FYI" it said in the subject line. Only vaguely curious, she clicked her mouse and opened it.

She was greeted with a picture of Jane that made her heart skip a beat. It was a black and white professional head shot. He was wearing a dark colored sweater and a bit of rakish stubble on his cheeks and chin, his hair casually tousled. He could have easily been a fashion model. His expression was serious, though his eyes had the familiar, mischievous sparkle that she'd grown to love. She blinked rapidly against sudden tears, then noticed the other information contained in the e-mail:

_One Night Only: Psychic and Spiritual Advisor, Patrick Jane._

_His Insight Will Amaze and Inspire You!_

_February 3, 8:00 p.m._

_Bay View Hotel Ballroom_

_San Francisco_

Lisbon stared at the date. The show was tonight. Did she dare? The thought of the weeks to come, without an explanation, without closure, prompted her quick decision, so that that by five o'clock she was chomping at the bit to leave. She would go to his show and confront him, maybe even finally punch him in the nose like she'd often been tempted to. It would be painful to see him, but she was compelled to force him to face her like a man, make him tell her admit that he had once again run scared. He owed her that much. Hell, he owed her more than he could possibly repay, and she fully intended to collect all that she could before she was done with him for good.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With evening traffic, Lisbon made it to the Bay View Hotel with only five minutes to spare, bought her ticket to the nearly sold-out show, and slipped into a seat at the rear of the crowded ballroom. The familiar, elaborate stage had been set up at the front of the room, just like it had been the first night they'd met. All around her, mainly women chattered excitedly about how handsome Jane was, how amazingly accurate, how they'd seen his show three, four, even five times. It struck her that to them, he was merely a stage persona. They hadn't seen him genuinely laugh, genuinely cry, seen his face in the throes of uninhibited passion. Then again, maybe he'd just been putting on a show for her too, and she should remember that he'd likely slept with a good percentage of the repeat customers here.

She set her face in stone. _No more of that, Teresa. Jane is going to be the one suffering tonight, not me._

Right on schedule, the lights dimmed and the dramatic intro flashed on the stage's big screen. Then, the man of the hour appeared as if by magic, center stage. The applause was deafening. When the lights came up again and Jane had used his charisma to calm the tide of fans, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for his first mark. He began with a fishing expedition.

"I'm Patrick Jane. I'll be your psychic for the evening." There were titters of feminine laughter and appreciative clapping. "Let me start with—" and he closed his eyes as if in deep thought, "—the letter…_C…_Someone in this room has a connection with the letter _C…"_

Teresa rose to her feet. "Coward," she called. "Coward starts with a _C,_ doesn't it?"

Instantly recognizing her voice, Jane shielded his eyes against the stage lights, and they went down as if by magic as he looked toward the back of the ballroom.

He smirked a little, but he didn't seem all that surprised.

"Yes, ma'am," he said into the microphone headset. "Indeed it does." He was pretending he didn't know her. "Brad, get a mic on the lady, if you please."

Lisbon could feel the scandalized eyes on her, could hear the speculative whispers throughout the room. The man she assumed was Brad suddenly appeared before her, holding a microphone in front of her face, which she promptly swiped from his hand. He looked at her as if shocked someone would do such a thing, but her eyes never left Jane's.

"I recently met a coward," she continued, her voice now suitably amplified. "He was afraid of commitment, so he left as soon as he could. Oh, yeah, _commitment_ starts with a _C _too, doesn't it?"

Jane walked slowly down the steps toward her. "Are you certain he really left you?" he asked, conscious of their rapt audience.

"Well, he wasn't there the next morning. I stopped short of looking underneath the bed for him, but yeah, I think it's safe to say he was gone."

More chuckles, and now, a few sisterly harrumphs.

"Maybe you don't know the whole story," continued Jane seriously. "Maybe his leaving had nothing to do with you. Maybe he had no choice."

She paused, and by then Jane was standing right in front of her. Of course, the audience had caught on that they knew each other, and aside from a few shocked whispers, most of the onlookers were completely caught up in the drama unfolding before them.

"Is that what your psychic link is telling you? Because I'm pretty sure he's not dead, well, at least not yet." The crowd loved her threatening tone. "He could have called," said Lisbon. "He could have returned my texts. He could have said good-bye, like he promised." She swallowed back the tears, not wanting to humiliate herself any more than she already was.

"Perhaps he wasn't ready to say good-bye," Jane said softly, as the crowd seemed to be holding its collective breath. "So there was no need to say it. Perhaps he hoped she would trust him, that she could see that he had changed, because of her."

"I had no reason to trust him," she said. "He's done this before. I saw no evidence of change."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "None?"

She thought of how he'd stayed with her the past few days when he hadn't really had to, when there hadn't even been the immediate promise of sex. She remembered the joy she felt upon seeing his smiling face each day after work, the comfort and security she'd felt as he lay beside her in her bed at night. But then she stiffened her spine in remembrance of the empty bed this morning.

"Well, it did take him longer to run this time, probably because until this morning, he was physically incapable of doing anything else."

"Ooooooohhhh," said the crowd.

"Don't you mean until last night? He certainly could have run last night, after the _third_ time he wasn't _physically incapable_. I mean, so my psychic sources tell me, folks…" Laughter again, and Lisbon flushed scarlet. And then, the fight seemed to drain out of her, and she was finished playing games.

"You left me, you bastard! I just want you to tell me to my face why you did it. Don't I deserve that much?"

"I was coming back," he said, forgetting his act as well. "I swear on my life I was."

"I don't believe you."

He made the last few steps forward that would allow him to be close enough to rest his hands on her shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes, uncaring now of their audience.

"I would have come back, Teresa, because…because I'm in love with you." Each of words was softly spoken, but the microphone made them sound loud as gunshots. The crowd gasped.

"I—I don't believe you," she repeated stubbornly, and around them, Lisbon felt the nearly tangible shift of their witnesses from supporting her position to being firmly in Jane's camp. "If someone loves you, they don't leave without telling you where they're going, when they'll be back. They're not selfish life that."

"You're right," he told her solemnly. "And I'm sorry. But I do love you Teresa Lisbon-deeply, helplessly, and somewhat reluctantly, and I'm making a psychic prediction that you love me too, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

He smiled a little, and they stared at each other, the room completely silent, awaiting her reply. Jane's pulse was hammering in his ears, having just made a confession that would have been difficult enough without an audience, but as he had said, he was helpless in his feelings, and there was nothing else for it but to let them out and damn the consequences.

Then, from the front of the room, came a gleeful call of encouragement.

"Kiss her, Patrick! You know she wants you to!"

That was all it took to get the rest of the audience to join in on the battle cry: "Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!"

Jane, the consummate showman, couldn't help but give the people what they wanted. Determination lit his eyes like a dull flame, and hers widened at his obvious intent. She began ardently to shake her head, but he wouldn't let that dissuade him, and Lisbon found herself engulfed by fine Italian wool and expensive French cologne.

"Jane—" she managed, before his lips silenced hers. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue tangling with hers, willing her to give everything to it, silently begging her to show the world that she had been equally caught up in this supreme madness. With a soft sound of acquiescence, she brought her hands up to delve into his smoothed back hair, the microphone she'd held bouncing to the carpet with an earsplitting squeal of feedback. The crowd, as they say, went wild.

He held her small body even more tightly to his, ravaging her mouth as if they were completely alone, applause, catcalls and whistles fading into the background, drowned out by their pounding hearts and whispered endearments. Jane forgot he still wore his headset, so the spectators heard every sound.

A few moments later Jane pulled reluctantly away, smiling into moss green eyes that still looked up at him in shocked disbelief.

"Hey, Teresa," a woman called, "if _you_ don't want him, I'll take him!"

"Me too," echoed several others, laughter in their voices.

"What do you say, Lisbon," said Jane. "Clearly you have a bit of competition."

"Also one of the problems," she said.

"Talk into the mic!" someone yelled. "We can't hear you!"

She sighed and huffed, then bent down for the discarded microphone and addressed the room.

"Thank you all for your concern, but this is really a private matter between Jane and me—"

"Who's the coward now?" Jane said.

"Oooooohhhhh," said the crowd.

Lisbon lowered the microphone. "Seriously," she ground out for Jane's ears only. "I don't want to do this now…here…"

Jane took pity on her and pulled her to his side. "I'm afraid this part of the show is over, folks. I'm fairly sure this wasn't what you came to see anyway. While I have Teresa here with me, however, I'd like to make an announcement."

"Have you set a date?" asked an audience member. More laughter.

"Uh, no. I'm afraid that's another show," replied Jane with a grin, and he could almost feel the waves of embarrassment rolling off of the woman at his side.

"No, this particular announcement might come as a surprise, and dare I say even a disappointment to some, but tonight's show will be my last. I've been offered a full-time position as a consultant with the California Bureau of Investigation. I've accepted."

There were immediate murmurs of protest, and Lisbon looked up at him, more shocked than anyone. He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"But, tonight's show will go on as planned. That is, if you're still in the mood to talk to your loved ones who have passed on…"

They applauded in response, and Jane escorted Lisbon back toward her seat. He covered his microphone and took Lisbon's from her hand, switching it off.

"Wait for me," he pleaded. "We do have a lot to talk about, don't you think?"

She tilted her head, contemplating his request. "Or, I could leave without telling you. Make you wonder what's become of me, make you rack your brain trying to figure out what you did wrong."

"Please," he begged softly.

"Okay. But I don't care to watch you hoodwink another bunch of gullible, desperate women, so I'll wait in the hotel lounge."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Thank you. And Teresa…I meant what I said."

"Well, that would be a first."

She wasn't going to let him off easily, he could see that. He supposed that was about what he deserved.

"See you in about ninety minutes," he told her. "I promise to explain everything."

She shook her head a little, only now beginning to recover from the shock of his admission and his kiss. She wanted nothing more than to be alone to think about it, to sort out the truth from the bullshit.

Jane watched her exit the ballroom, while his thoughts roiled within his brain and he tried to focus on making his very last show a memorable one—at least for the fans. It would take a Herculean effort to stop thinking about Teresa Lisbon.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was more like two hours before he made it to the hotel lounge, and he was in a near panic that she would have left after ninety-one minutes. It was difficult to get away when everyone wanted his autograph, or a hug, or to talk about his plans with Lisbon. And so it was with a sinking heart that he entered the lounge to find her gone. A pianist played tinkling jazz in the corner, and the bar was only half-full on a weeknight. He went to the bartender.

"You see a beautiful, petite woman who looked like she could spit nails?"

The man laughed, drying a few highball tumblers. "Trouble in paradise?"

Jane grinned wryly. "You might say that."

"Well, your troubles may be over. If you're Jane, the little lady left you a message." He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a folded napkin.

"I'm Jane, all right, but after tonight, I might just be forced to change my name." He unfolded the napkin to find only a room number. "Thanks, my friend," he said to the bartender, slipping him a twenty for his trouble. Then he hastened to the elevator.

She could have just left him without a goodbye—that would have been the most cutting and meaningful way to blow him off once and for all. Booking a room then had to be a good sign, but with Teresa Lisbon, she could just be looking for a quiet place to bust his balls.

He stood outside the room on the tenth floor, pulse racing. He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. After a good thirty seconds, he knocked. No reply. He knocked again, sweating a little now.

He heard her disengage the deadbolt, then open the door. He had hoped she'd be wearing sexy lingerie so he'd know immediately her intentions, but she was still clad in her work clothes (minus the blazer and heeled boots), her hair mussed, eyes sleepy as if she'd been taking a nap. He found he preferred her that way, and his heart clenched a little.

"May I come in?" he asked. She hesitated, appraising him as well, and he couldn't help but notice she liked what she saw.

She stood aside so he could pass. "Point taken," he said, as he looked around the classy room she'd rented, complete with king-size bed.

"What point is that, Jane?" As if she didn't know.

"When I got to the bar, you were gone, after you'd told me you'd be there. Point taken."

"Imagine that feeling for three months, or even over night, and you see my trouble in a nutshell."

"I know. I'm an idiot, Teresa, set in my ways, scared to death, out of my depth—whatever you want to call it. I got a call this morning saying I'd better get my ass to this show tonight or I'd be sued for breach of contract by my business manager."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms over her chest, still not convinced he was telling her the whole truth. She hadn't offered him a seat, so he was feeling unusually nervous. It took everything in him not to run his hands through his hair in agitation, or worse, start pacing.

"Yeah. I missed a few shows lately without notice. My mind was on other things, like broken ribs and, well, _you_. And since I'm now on a civil servants' pay, I figured I would run out of my savings pretty quickly if I didn't try to get some of my manager's money back."

She simply stared at him, debating. His hand went to his tie, which suddenly felt like a noose. He decided at that moment that after tonight, he wouldn't be wearing any of those anymore.

"Geeze, Lisbon, can we sit down please?"

She almost laughed, but chose sarcasm instead. "Nervous, Jane? What on earth do you have to be nervous about?"

He sat in a chair, figuring it would be too presumptuous to sit on the bed.

"You never answered me," he said. "And would you, for Pete's sake, please sit down?"

She purposefully hesitated, enjoying his discomfort, then sat on the bed. He visibly relaxed, then grinned, knowing exactly what she was trying to do and even admiring her for it.

"All right," she began, all business-like. "If this relationship is going to continue, there need to be some rules."

"Lisbon's Commandments," he said with a twinkle.

"Don't be sacrilegious."

"Sorry," he said, but he wasn't really. He waved his hand encouragingly. "Shoot."

"First, you will keep your promises if at all humanly possible."

"You've made that abundantly clear."

"Good, because that's a deal breaker. Second, your time as a playboy will end if you're with me. No other women, period."

"Thou shalt have no other women before me, sayeth Agent Lisbon. Not a problem; I don't think I could handle you _and _someone else anyway."

"Third," she went on, ignoring his wry comments. "Don't lie to me."

"Thou shalt not lie. Understood."

"Jane—"

He got up from the chair and joined her on the bed, taking her hands in his.

"Look, believe it or not, I know how to be a good boy. I've been in a committed relationship before—I was married for ten years, and I never cheated or broke promises, or told more than a little white lie about how good she looked in a dress. It's been awhile, but I remember, Teresa," he finished softly.

She stared at him a moment, wanting to believe him, wanting him to be the man she believed was there beneath the conman facade.

"Anything else?" he prompted.

His hands in hers were distracting, but she had to put everything on the table before she chose to take a chance on him again. He'd said he loved her, and she wanted desperately to believe him.

"Yes. Since you're really working with the CBI now—I called Minelli to confirm, by the way—work has to be separate from our relationship. From what I know of CBI regulations, it's a gray area that defines the role of a consultant-team relations. I think we're okay from a rule standpoint, but my job is very important to me. I don't want you screwing it up by well, _screwing_ me. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Loud and clear, and so delicately put too." He was grinning ear-to-ear now, heartened that her commandments weren't going to be as difficult to follow as he'd feared, for the more he spoke to her now, the more he wanted this with her.

"Is that it?"

"That's it."

"Fine," said Jane. "I will follow your commandments. But I have a condition too before we embark on this adventure."

"And what's that?" she asked, sounding suddenly nervous herself.

Next thing she knew, Jane had pushed her down onto the bed, covering her body with his. His mouth hovered mere millimeters from hers.

"I need you to tell me you love me. I know you do, so don't bother denying it. But admitting it is my one and only condition."

"Just so you'll be proven right?" she asked, becoming breathless at the feeling of his hard body pressing hers into the bed.

He smirked, but his eyes were soft and filled with desire. "Among other things."

"Tell me," he said persuasively, his lips alighting on her cheek. His sensual cologne enveloped her once more, and her breath hitched in her throat. He kissed one corner of her mouth, his tongue lightly flicking the sensitive spot, making her ache to feel his lips fully covering hers.

"Tell me," he said again, gliding lightly over her lips to the other corner, repeating his sensual torment. "You may have tamed me, sweetheart, but I still need you to throw me a bone to keep me in line." He pressed his hardness into the cradle of her hips for emphasis.

It was all she could do not to moan, especially when he moved to kiss her other cheek, then her chin, purposefully avoiding where she wanted his mouth most.

"Repeat after me, Teresa," he said, his words whispering over her skin. "I…"

"I," she said tremulously.

"Love…" and he kissed the tip of her nose.

"L-Love." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and Jane kissed each one closed.

"You…"

Her hands went up to his face, and she opened her eyes, allowing the tears to fall as she looked up at him.

"You," she said, her heart in her eyes, and he smiled before claiming her lips at last.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later, Lisbon lay naked at his side beneath the covers, her hand resting on his firm stomach, while his slid lazily up and down her softly curved back. Then, much to her surprise, he quoted Shakespeare:

"'Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth  
But that our soft conditions and our hearts  
Should well agree with our external parts?'"*

She smiled mischievously, nestling more closely to him. "_Your_ external part isn't always soft…"

He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Naughty Lisbon rears her lovely head."

"I'm wondering, however, whether you will truly be able to give up the glamour and the fame of the stage. Won't you miss all that feminine adulation, the yachts, the cars…?"

"No, yours is the only feminine adulation I need. But ask me again a year from now about the other things, when I've depleted my savings."

"You'll become oddly comforted by Ramen noodles and cold pizza."

"I somehow doubt that. And yet, I'm looking forward to finding out. I-"

But his thought was interrupted by the ringing of Lisbon's cell phone. She rolled to the side to pick it up from the bedside table.

"It's Cho," she said, and pressed a button before speaking into the phone. "Lisbon." A few minutes later, she disconnected with a sigh. "We're up," she said, quickly kissing his cheek and pulling back the covers. "A murder in Ukiah."

"You're kidding me." Lisbon turned on the lamp and Jane blinked in annoyance against the sudden harsh brightness. And then Jane's phone rang.

"That will be Cho," she predicted with a grin.

"What?" He lifted up his phone and answered it. She was right, of course.

"I'll be there," he told the agent on the phone. He hung up and turned to Lisbon, admiring the view as she hastily pulled on her undergarments.  
"This is ridiculous. Can't murderers do their business at a more civilized hour?"

She laughed heartily, throwing him his pants.

"Welcome to the CBI, my love."

Lisbon felt almost guilty to be so happy about going to a crime scene. She'd be working with the man she loved, doing the job she loved. She knew she hadn't completely tamed the former psychic, but then again, every girl needs her man to be at least a little bit naughty, from time to time.

**THE END**

A/N: Thanks for reading this fic! I do appreciate all your kind words of support. I'm tentatively working on my next story, an extreme AU set in the world of Jane Austen, and I might have a little help from a familiar friend…Please be sure you're following me so you know when I post the first chapter!

*This quote comes from Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew," of course.


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